A Ballad for Brother Hubbard
I can hear his
coffee breath
laughing after
a morning cigarette.
bare chested, he
stretches to put
on a cut off
that isn’t quite
dirty enough yet;
heading out to
the garage to
get wet with sweat,
fluids, & coolants.
oil slicked hands
whirl blackened
kitchen sink water
down a drain fixed
by the same hands
who knows
how many times.
white bread &
bologna sandwiches
fuel the rest
of the day;
which involves
house painting,
& roofing under
a crisp Chicago sun;
a handy man pushing
through contracts
without a single
ruffled feather.
hiding mental snares
behind only-just
graying hairs, you
pressed on because,
despite having
bratty spawn,
you loved &
took care of them
more than anyone
else. including yourself.
a father,
who
found out
he was dying
because of
the unkind manner
in which he
handled his insides.
called it quits.
one last drowning
before the end.
might as well
go out partying.
listening to
Dokken
& friends,
up past eleven.
I’ll always reminisce
mobbing to
50 Cent, &
the funny way he
used to sing
AC/DC’s
“Big Balls;”
but most of all
I’ll look forward to
seeing him again,
when Heaven calls.
whatever happened,
in his mind I
truly don’t know.
I just
remember
hugging him
on his last night
here on Earth;
after he walked
me most of the way
to my friend’s place.
I told him,
“love you, see
you in the morning...”
- poem by S. Franklin | @thee.sleepy.scribbler
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