My old man withered
hidden in wrinkles
that wrote his wrongs
cans and bottles were his voice
liquor was his song

and my old man saaaang baby
years he learned the liquid notes
joined choirs and sang solos
usually sang in darkness
he hummed alone the most

knew songs from different places
shared melodies in bars
rode a bike for most my life
because he liked to sing in cars

memorized the symphonies
the aromatic sound of chord
my old man was a conductor
earned well was such reward

he saaaang, sweet and low
he saaaang, bitter high
he saaaang, comin’ and goin’
he saaaang until he died

And so my old man withered
those songs sang him away
left me without those memories
and I don’t wanna sang.

-see

©2013 Cornelious “See” Flowers