THAT YEAR 1968

Reads: 108  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A YOUNG MAN AND HIS FATHER'S DEATH.

Submitted: January 09, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 09, 2012

A A A

A A A


alt

Father died that year. So did

Bob Kennedy, although that

Was a different death, planned

Right down to the last dark detail.

But your father’s was more personal,

More hurtful, getting right into your

Bones and heart. You were sitting

In the doctor’s surgery with your

Father where he’d come about pains

In the chest and back, when some guy

Came in and said, Bob Kennedy’s dead,

Some bugger’s shot him (excuse my French,

He added, there women being present).

There was muttering amongst the throng,

Whispers, coughs, splutters, then a silence

Deeper than awaiting death by your father’s

Elbow, seemingly deeper than Nietzsche’s

Haunting eyes. Your father said nothing

That you recall, but no doubt he felt the

Same sadness that most felt that day,

The waste of a life, a fine brain blown out

Like some candle in a dark room, another

Organized snuff out by some rogue element

Of government backrooms. Father died

That year unbeknown by the world at large

(As if it cared), but death was just as certain

And thorough when it came, sweeping him

Silently from the hospital ward, his link to

Life cut like a bloodied umbilical cord.


© Copyright 2017 dadio. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Unknown