Poem - My Father Mine

My Father Mine When my phone rangat 5 A.M. Ididn't thinkthat nobody calls at that hourto chit chat.Instead I thought selfishly,and went back to bed. When you calledat 7:30 I cleared the cobwebsand answered.You told me something baffling,and my heart sanklike it was made of lead. Up till then I never prayedthat this day would never come. Instead I was a selfish little tyrantwho spoke in soundbites. I talked with dadjust a few hours before,one of those odd "pre trauma" discussionsthat I always eerily have.We spoke about girls,and I told him how I had a datewith Jenny Plut that weekend. Whatever I saw in the SICU wasn't him,he was gone. Mechanically,he breathed for three weeks.It was the most perverse thingI ever saw,like a CPR dummy,like a balloon being inflated and deflated.How you must have suffered, too. Uncle Howard saidhis skull must have filled with bloodbefore the cops even pried him out of the car.I thought that inappropriate. The only thing I heard you say was: "Oh, Jim..." and you stroked his wrinkled hand. Oh, what would I tell youif I could go backto that night?Would I have stayed on the phone with you longer,or answered at five when you called? God forgive me,I now know I don't deserve it. I heard you passed awayabout four years later.I found this out only recently,I had long since vanished,a selfish child,you could say. Before I leftI ducked into a bathroomright by the hospital entrance,fell down in the toilet stalland wept.I couldn't go back, not after that night. And so as dad was turned overhis eyes opened, briefly.And then he shut them,and silently died. Mark Wilson