-why poetry-

within the first

moments casting my father
in the lead role, the scenes are set
in an effort to give everything a strong foundation.

one of the poems takes place at his funeral

where I approach in order to move him around,

get him up, wipe away the matte
powder and vulgar rouge from his face,

maybe take off 30 or 40 years,

re-dress him, then send him on his way

toward whatever journey I’ll set for him.

a few poems find him traveling with a purpose,
east on route 6 in his Buick.

others, have him sitting at the frantic supper tables.

a recent poem takes place
during the beginning of his final years

initiated from a faded snapshot which has him
standing and waving happily to the crowd
of well-wishers, in his trench-coat and WW2
Italian-American veteran's cap on the parade route
rolling down Bedford Street

from a Cadillac convertible, introducing him by paper placards
masking-taped to the doors announcing him
as: “Honorary Parade Chairman” of the Columbus Day Parade.

               "Honorary Chairman".
               (not elected Chairman)

                This year's Place-Setter.
                Silver medalist chosen by Committee. 
                The liquor salesman on the road.
                Glad-hander extraordinaire.  
                Responsible husband and citizen.
                Stable, reliable father of three.
                On-time payer of monthly bills.
                

another I’m particularly drawn to

finds him simply hanging around the corner

with his buddies when everybody was young, active,

and me, unborn.

but I like to keep him moving.

what I also try to do within the poems

is allow everybody else inside the architecture

to move along with him.

this is easily accomplished as the linkage
is pre-set by history.
but somebody else has to write their particular poetry.

I don’t take credit for understanding,
let alone defining

the personal inner movements of any of them.