“this one just didn’t look right…”

Thinking of my Dad, and a conversation we had yesterday - while he was adjusting stones in a waterfall he’s building...


Rudy Thomas

Body Man


My father does not like
to read poetry
does not know
he has written his own verse
with a ball peen hammer,
banging rockerpanels and crumpled fenders
until he edits the flaws.
He does not realize
that I use his works
to judge my own.
He is master of perfection
I parody.


           Appalachia Inside Out, Volume 2:
           Culture and Custom, Robert Higgs,
           Ambrose Manning & Jim Wayne Miller, eds.

~

And my own Father/Son poem...

Saving Hands


My father never kissed me,
but he bloodied his hand once,
running it through an electric fan
to save mine. It left a scar.

My father never kissed me,
but he taught me how to hoe corn,
how to keep my fingers from cramping.
And he was happy.

My father never kissed me,
but he pulled from my hand a tenpenny nail
that had glanced from the hammer
while we were building a room.

I’ve kissed my son. I have,
but I’ve never saved his hand.

      (published in Muse of Fire and Necessary Motions)