Dirt Road in France

My father said he met Henrik
Ibsen having coffee in Europe.
They talked of big things.
My father said he found his calling
on a dirt road in France,
where crows sought something shiny.
He fought to write,
but words fumbled in his mouth
like refugees with no place to go.

When I saw my father
pressed in his coffin
like a book on a shelf,
I thought Ibsen must have led
a shifty, shameless life.