Turning

Turning around
I look out way past yesterday
streamlining my head
for tomorrow’s possibles.
Now these clothes, they grew into me
I’d swear I never bought them
had them wrapped and under-armed
removed those plastic tags
and stacked them
vertical in the wardrobe.
But the mirror tells me I did.
My Dad would’ve worn those
beige shorts, un-ticked deck shoes
an hour from a boat, two from the sea.
But I have them on, comfortably,
easily chilling into couldn’t care less.

Funny how you remember, or I do
tastes of childhood,
spring grass, mud, glue,
match heads, raw macaroni,
cooking chocolate, blood, newspaper,
quite a surprise we ever grew up.
I survived poking my fingers
into the live socket,
the guy who tried to drown me
at a scout pool,
that edgy man who
dragged me to the floor and put
his broken glass to my throat.
Everyone has them,
the breakdowns too,
yet many go unnoticed,
and from expanding life
as far from my father
as it would stretch to, I rest here.
Quoting his sayings,
blinking his eyes
and wearing his
bloody deck shoes, mind you
licking butter and sugar
from this cake bowl,
these pumps feel
real good.

Jerry Pike