Читать книгу Dancing at Lake Montebello - Lynne Viti - Страница 20

Lament

I dreamed my father was the ocean —

salt water lapping, reclaiming the beaches —

or he was Poseidon, with his trident, ruling the seas.

Only my father didn’t rule the water.

The salt waters of the bay and the booze

conspired to push the boat on which he dozed,

sunburned, sated with whiskey. He was slammed

against the pilings of a small bridge. He never

walked right again. His football days were long

over. Now he couldn’t show me

how to run for yardage after catching the pass.

He couldn’t drive a standard because his ankle

screamed when he depressed the clutch.

From then on it was automatic Chevys for him,