Good Friday, 2009

How would you like to settle

the arrangements whispers the indeterminate man

in the wrinkled suit.

my father asks do you take plastic?

Sons and fathers, i am thinking.

Fathers and sons.

Every schoolboy knows

a light-seeking tropism destroys all wings.

just as every father knows

we will not hear them melt. stop.

Each son is already betrayed;

bleeding, they cry out pitifully.

they hurdle toward earth, knowing

we do not reach them in time.

Sons and fathers, you are thinking.

Fathers and sons.

Your anger is righteous

and complete; my sadness

is without end.  Soon,

I shall be forced to watch you fly.