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[ricochet kid]

gnaw the bone

my father and I
assemble his chairs
the knightly seats
      to encircle his poker table
      the work goes silent
      and well

he is recovering
from the yellow jackets
that sent him to the emergency room
      I’m recuperating
      from two nights
      of professional drinking
 
I pull at my whiskey
and ruinous cigar
when not occupied with a wrench
      we work quickly
      and sweat like horses
      because we are invincible

we tighten the thick bolts
until they complain
like neglected hinges
      and drive them
      one squeal deeper
      for good measure
     
the dog meanwhile
gnaws his bone capably
he knows the pleasure of his duty
      we have elected him
      president of our club
      he slavers, content in his sovereignty 
     
our satisfaction is palpable
when we finish and plop
into opposing chairs
       across the broad, green table
       with nothing
       separating us

and mother says
we never talk

[Nazz]

this is great.  i need a scotch and big ol' slab of red meat. sometimes you gotta let your wrench do the talkin'... ".. drive them one squeal deeper, for good measure"... ha.

[ricochet kid]

Thanks, Nazz. You know, I never showed my dad this poem. I'm seeing him tonight. I should take him a copy. He'll probably get a kick out of it.

[doreen peri]

Yes! Take him a copy!

This is a well written piece that hits right in the heart .... the way a father and son relate, the closeness and love in the relationship. I love this poem!

[alias shifter]

sweet