Swedish Saga
Swesish Saga
Gerda left Sweden with an odd liking for turnips.
She claimed hard labor ruined her hands.
She hated her father.
Fritchof walked like an ex-sailor.
He had a vein-blue tattoo on his left hand.
He once sailed the Red Sea and grew a mustache.
They met in Vancouver. A brown wedding oval preserves
her stiff upper lip, his doubting earnestness.
She made him smoke his after-dinner cigar
in a corner where he taught me chess.
On the morning he died my mother removed the half pint
of Jim Beam from his bed-table drawer.
Gerda now reads the Bible to her son.
He is 50 and masturbates in the tub.
They go to faith healers.
He has actually seen the Devil!
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