On My Father's Life
Woke up and read
“On My Father’s Life”
by Raymond Carver.
Thought about Kentucky
and Dad with his shirt off,
sweating in a chilly morning
of March, digging
for a fence post.
The poor bastard,
to share a name
and lose a photograph.
It's seems like I've
lost something too.
My father isn’t dead
to space, but it’s been years.
And to share a name,
after all this time.
It's all he has share.
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