OK yes the crazy shaped me;
dad was not only jealous of mom,
but of each male child;
this bound him to family and made the safe
argumentative and wild.
I was obedient to my parents’ wishes
but I didn’t know what those wishes were; the family
had its own reason for existing; “The butter, dear!
Bacon and eggs! Dad is dad, He’ll remain here.”
I shyly went off to college, guessing all the time,
worried, comforted by plays and rhyme.
I was obedient but had dagger thoughts.
Disobedience was for losers. I obeyed
but for a larger purpose. Everything was delayed.
I watched others make a fast buck;
they knew what they wanted; this made them dull;
I was aloof; hesitating gave me intelligence,
if not material luck.
I was tortured by the inability to know
but I trusted philosophy. I took my reading slow;
(awesome, illuminating, dialogues of Plato!)
neither spiritual, nor materialistic, I was odd;
I kept converting to my own method of converting;
the only way I knew how to wrestle with God
was to send angry letters to first mom, then dad;
Philosophy cured the maudlin; finally, I was only sad.
At Iowa, in front of friends—Karla said I was showing off
(I was always drinking beers, always had a cough)
when I said I heard “I want my mother” in the melody
of Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony.
It took me a long time to settle down;
a bookstore job, then a job over at the college;
serious, yet joking finally about it all
is the best way to soften the fall;
I had scares and heartbreaks, enough
to be grateful, to get that experience
they say we all need.
The truly simple things are still true;
that’s what i think. But will they always be true?
I don’t know, really. I better ask you.