COMPANY MAN
My
father, who fought
in
France and Germany --
Baker
Company -- would ask
if
we were nervous
in
the service, or say
macht schnell! when I wasn’t
mowing
fast enough,
or
wake up in his icy
foxhole
screaming.
Mother
bought the wrong
hot
dogs once, ones his company
didn’t
make. Just once,
like
the time I wouldn’t try
their
french fried bacon rinds.
He
kept his Bronze Stars
in
a sock drawer,
their
official boxes leather
bound,
velvet lined. I could
see
them if I asked,
show
them to my friends,
whose
fathers missed the war.
When
his company’s stock
was
going down and down,
the
other VPs, who’d slithered
past
the draft, he’d note --
swirling
another Scotch
--
dropped their shares and ran.
He
held on tight to the only
stock
he’d ever owned,
my
angry hero father,
G.I.,
government issue,
who
died years later,
surrounded,
holding out.
______
THE
ALCHEMIST’S APPRENTICE
It
takes a golden heart, Fool’s told,
free
from the merest fleck of sin,
from
the slightest tilt toward mischief
no
worse than, say, kicking a beggar,
to
turn base metal into something worth
any
number of living things, including
your
brother, your wife and children,
and
children those children might have
and
children they might have
or
think about having, consciously
or
unconsciously, and their dogs,
cats,
goats, fish, monkeys, sheep,
and
any other pets and livestock,
including
those little yellow budgies
that
go “ka-roo, ka-roo”when you talk
baby
talk to them; and babies, too,
in
case you thought they weren’t included
in
“children”; and fetuses down to
those
that are just one atome, that could
still
grow into frogs or camelopards,
which,
along with atomes, are also listed.
“How’s
rat catching pay?“ asks Fool,
lead
heart thumping in its cauldron.
______
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