Dead Man

I used to sit at the

table with my old man

and watch him smoke

cigarettes

they were early mornings

and I could see

his disgust

at having to leave home

as early as he did

to roof houses

to roof buildings so high in the city

he would often get nosebleeds

my mother would sit at the table

enrobed and sorry for this-

popping the heat blisters across his back

in each blister I saw

his own death

his own demise by the hours

which took on his age

“Well,” he once told me, “you better finish school and go

to college, save some money before you settle down

and start a life for yourself, and if I ever catch

you living like this I’m gonna haunt your ass until

the day you’re in your deathbed, boy. Don’t quit school and

don’t be a fuck-up like me.”

I’m now an adult and pushing

up near 30. my mother is dead

but the old man is still around

and

I hope the son of a bitch never dies.