The Death of a Father

Chain saw oiled soaked lumber.
Creosote gloves tossed in closet.
Worn out tanned boots black as molasses.

Wool sweater pocket with Wrigley's Spearmint Gum.
I want  juicy fruit. My friend and I take the last pieces.
We smell and inhale tobacco ten years old.

Dad worn out, head on table.
Old cat, twenty years old, reads what it's able.

Father with stories so sad he is enabled.
Father with ears, blasted and disabled.
I play him a tune, as he rises from the table.

I love you so much, it is good you are my son.
For if you were not and played such a tune,
Then I'm afraid, I would take my hands,
and your life would be done!