For My Dad

My dad was born today 105 years ago, July 16, 1920. Think of the things he saw in his 88 years on this side of The Veil. I know I have blipped this hammer of his before, the one with its 1942 production date stamped on it. He would have been working in the US Naval shipyards then, turned down for enlistment into the military because of an earlier perforated ear drum. He was quite a guy, funny as hell, very athletic, and an excellent golfer, and though we had our differences and scrapes early on, I love and miss that guy. My poetry effort this morning was for him.

Poem For My Dad

You were born on this day 105 years ago, raised in hardscrabble Oklahoma, grew up playing ball on blazing dirt diamonds.
With hands like Kansas City hams, you crushed fastballs two city blocks.

You taught me to love the game, how to drive a nail, how to tell a story, how to raise a family, how to pull my weight in this world.

You’ve been gone sixteen years now, but I think of you every day, especially with your hammer in hand, driving my next nail.