Eddy

Eddy

Our Fathers who art not of Heaven

But who reside on earth--Flesh, bones, and death--

Sometimes they do not know love.

They know women. They know sex and baseball.

To them a "thing" between men

Must be hidden in smoky bars,

Shielded by amber bottles of beer,

Backslapping brotherhood, and dark shades to hide soft eyes.

Touches must be shoulder-level.

Comparisons are allowed over restroom urinals.

But then they quickly say, "My woman likes me this way.

Hand squeezing is allowed for dying buddies--Hugs for brothers, sometimes.

Eddy, you must resist kissing your Mother--

This is what our Fathers mean

When they say, "Act like a man."

Yes you can cry on a battlefield

As you place your comrade's severed hand

In a body bag.

But you can't keep shedding tears the day after

And the day after

When you learn you are no longer the lighted vision

Your Father had when he lifted you and saw his symbol

Between your bowed legs, and named you his name-

When he knows you'd prefer to love the sun

Than battle the wind,

When he sees your Mother in your walk,

When he knows you will not be another

Dark shaded MacArthur who walks on water

And spits out the bones of men,

When he knows all of these things

And gives you his raised eyebrows--

­Dance on like you dance,

Like a man stepping on burning tongues.

Published in the James White Review

Summer 1993

Soulfires 1996

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