I look in the mirror and see my father’s face
Lines are a-startin’ to draw
Down like a bad day in the Dow Jones
Sculpting a frown that only gravity will love
I look through space and see my father’s moves
So slick and fast compared to what he was
So destined to be entrenched
Into a Hall of Fame with only one exit
And one tiny entrance
Oh, those moves…
Pull my finger (I always did)
“That’s for nothing. Wait until you do something.”
(I always did prefer nothing)
Or the famous thousand-yard stare
And 20 degrees down
It’s in the eyebrow, not the eye
Right at the apex of the hairy arch
Dawn of the Dad was long ago
Grandfathered away into long, farty nights
I wonder…will I?
Will I sleep in an easy chair instead of a bed?
Will John Wayne be on the television
As I slip into snorgly, gorgly sleep?
Could I hold a glass of scotch perfectly level
As my body slides, Cirque du les lune
Into near prone positions?
So easy in the easy chair
He has moves, my father
He has perfected them
His body bears the round, soft shape
Of a near sphere of ecstatic old age