The Empty Bed

A father teaches a son everything he knows . . . Sometimes, it isn’t enough Furrows plowing, seedlings dying, a daughter screams, As young Johnny goes off to the city A step-child of his own desire Wandering the avenues and alleyways Searching high in the lights for his name But only a shadow comes down from the neon Dark and invisible as he walks A soul without acceptance A new emptiness fills the hardened cracks, —and hallowing cement void Where the stench of severed roots and singed beginnings, —meet and die And from 1000 miles a father walks in the darkness, —ancient and alone Passing an empty bed in a dimly lit country hallway, —asking why (Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)