Image of God

Dad’s grave erupted from fiber
glass drops and the looming
shadows of a wooden shell.

The trawler’s nets caught
nightmares, and the missing
green paper tore at pride

not once before infected.
But the poison of Wall’s
greed trapped his pepper

white and gray beard,
as denim tuxes hung
like undertaker wraps,

sackcloth, and the black
robes that haunt cracks
in leather hands. Teeth

went first as his wide
god-man shoulders
haunted gray windows

and even grayer doors.
The brown rot ate
and chewed upon cheeks.

During Jeopardy, Dad sat
hunched, sipping Campells
cream of chicken in low

wet rasps as warmth
laced the wounds seeping
toxins into failing blood.

The mind had no time
to crumble. He climbed
into the white Chevy

and drove off Milledge
bend to find a place
to dream

of new wood molds
and the sharp sweet

sting of resins lurking
hiding

tearing apart the silk
of lungs.

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