Thursday, May 8, 2014

Dad and Goliath

Paul Merril Hiltz
Nov. 28th, 1926 - May 8th, 1997 

My dad was many things, 
and while he was not always the father
he could have been,
 he had a kind and loving heart, 
a keen and witty mind, 
an uncanny ability to tell a great story.

Dad and Goliath

A slingshot,
my father's constant companion,
lovingly whittled from forked branch,
traveled in his pocket
from youth throughout manhood.
...a witness to his life,
the loss of an eye,
a brother-in-law's death
delivered by my father's hand,
and rejection by army recruiters
who had no use
for a one eyed soldier.
 Carried in his pocket
during vows softly spoken,
the birth of eight children,
at bootlegger's 
and Legion Halls,
and on the job,
one night in Cape Breton,
in a boarding house room
cold enough to freeze
 piss in a bucket.
Men hastily stripped down to 
long-johned bodies
rushed under blankets of wool,
only to realize
no one had turned out the light!
None brave enough to venture
back out into the cold,
my one eyed father
 faced Goliath that night.
With a button ripped from his chest
he loaded up his sling...
and eye to glowing eye
took aim...
turned out the light.


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