Dad Poem by George Murdock

Here's to you Red,
a life selfishly shared, to nights of lust spent with her,
which pulled us from her into your world,
into your long withdrawals, and long absences,
into the cramped apartments,
and drafty haunted bungalows.
I toast the heedless woodpecker Remington
striking broken keys of incoherent wine rants,
and the sound of crumpling dreams.
The pall mall smoke curling
up through the chimney of a lamp.
The curses erupting, the fights with her
in the wee hours of school nights.
Here's to you Red and your goof balled friends.
Stumbling in drunk and loaded
like rum soaked pirates.
Taking over the kitchen table.
Scraping dishes, plastic flowers and coloring books
into a heap on the linoleum floor.
Lifting me in a frightened coil,
barefooted, wearing only jockey shorts.
I danced like your cabin boy,
while you and Frank, the guy with the glass eye
laughed and slapped your knees in delight.
I remember a day you left us
with two sticks of margarine,
a half box of CornFlakes,
a twenty dollar bill.