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)

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