Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2218934-Willie
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2218934
My father, or what little I know about him.
Willie was a Man among Men.
He was Strong.
He was Virile.
He was Handsome.
He was Outgoing.
He was Smart.

he was angry.
he was an alcoholic.
he was a womanizer.
he was darker
than midnight
ever dared to be.

He left his wife
of seventeen years
one dark day in 1964
to run off with Donnie,
his slut dejour,
leaving his family behind,
including five year old me.

Where he went then,
what he did,
for fourteen long years
I'll probably never know,
but after I joined the Army
somehow he got wind of it,
and when I was nineteen,
stationed in Germany
he sent me a long letter.

Two months later
I was on a Greyhound bus
headed west from home
to Victoria, Texas
where Willie and Kathy
waited for me.
I spent two weeks with them,
getting drunk on Shiner beer,
going on long boatrides
on some nameless waterway,
feeling that
at long last my father loved me.

After I ETSed,
we lost contact,
Willie and I,
for many years
as I pursued my life
until one December morning
when I was living
in Dillon, Montana,
I got a phone call.

Willie was dying,
but had somehow found me
yet again,
apologizing profusely
for all he'd put me through,
begging my forgiveness
one final time;
we spoke three hours
that Saturday morning,
and five days later
I got another call from Diane,
his live-in companion.

Willie was dead.

He was buried
with full honors
in some military cemetary
in Texas;
just WHERE
I've long since forgotten.

Willie was a Man.

He was my Father.

Rest in peace Willie.

Your oldest son sill loves you.
© Copyright 2020 Randy RosarioWyatt (randyr at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2218934-Willie