PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Who knew Detroit made better heroes
than cars?
True, the armor doesn't impress--
old ski jacket, beanie hat,
forest green scarf I made you
for Christmas
when the heat died in your car.  

It's always things like that
for you.  
The jobs don't stay, and home isn't
just one place, or any place;
the car is breaking down
and the dog
and the father you loved so long,  

but you're still standing. You woke
up today
and put two feet on the floor,
and marched straight back  
into the packrat, cardboard trenches
of the house
that isn't yours, anymore.  

You wrestle down the Gorgon
before breakfast,
and still find the time
to sit next to your dad and puzzle out
his mumbling and groaning  
and the tapping
of the only two fingers he can still move,  

and you didn't walk away
even when
filthy jars collected, yellow, on the floor
because he takes half an hour just
to stand up, and another
to walk
as far as the bathroom door.  

And you stayed when he couldn't speak
for himself,
when he couldn't catch his breath
and couldn't change his shirt,
and couldn't raise a fork.
God knows
you have a life you could be living.  

I'll never understand where you found
the strength
to watch him suffer,
to fight dragons in the morning
and reapers at night
and still
go to work in between,  

and remember your sisters'
birthdays
and what classes I'm taking,
what books she's reading,
to fix help us fix the toilet and the faucet and still
drive back
when there's nothing left to welcome you home.