One more chance

Lament For My Father

I had to look my best. Sunday mornings. Grey trousers, white shirt, and a tie. We were like porcelain figurines. My father was so proud. Ten years earlier he had his hands full. With his best friend’s intestines. On a beach in France. That could have been created by Satan.

How could I have been so insensitive. I called him a vegetable. I was thinking of a tomato. Compounded by ignorance. When he was huddled behind a cafe wall. Outside Amsterdam. Praying to God. For one more chance.

And I was it. That son. He sold his soul for. Worked in a factory. Where the roofs were just a few inches above your head. And the heat was so intense. Some days in August were so much like hell. That they closed the plant. Down.

He died in the basement. Where I’m sitting. He died and all of his sins were forgiven. And the one thing I’ve learned since. When the truth is in front of you. Look it square. In the eyes. And don’t flinch.