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Dying Father Poem


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That's Not My Father

by Marilyn McIntyre

That's Not My Father
the gray, gray, creature
moaning and clutching
in the bed
that's not my father
my father
cuts lawns and climbs trees
can fix anything
barks loudly when aroused
and loves, lives really
to dance

acquiescent soul
desperately grasping
at answers correct
to the doctor's questions
that's not my father

my father
plants a garden to feed the multitudes
family, mostly
drinks beer, reads newspapers
and loves, really loves
his sons

sweet, rumpled, man
a prisoner of this place
of tubes and metal and machine
that's not my father

my father
is still out there somewhere
knows his family, job, life
is not lost among the grounds
of his own mind
that's not my father
lying there in that bed
that is not my father.

Copyright © 1998 by Marilyn McIntyre, All rights reserved

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