My Father's Hands

[Kenneth2816]

I have robbed your bones,
unfurled the rough burlap
bundle I keep them in.

They're too old for soup so
I make a fife from a finger,
carve the holes , hollow it out.

I remember your hands, how
they could build anything, repair
anything. I saw you knock a man

unconscious for swearing in
the presence of my mother.
With the sweep of a backhand,

you knocked me from a chair
because I refused to tell you
where I bought marijuana.

Now I parade the streets of town
piping a tune only kids like me
hurt by hands, can follow quietly

[BobBradshaw]

Another tough, strong poem, Ken. Making a fife from a finger grabs your attention immediately. Then the dangerous, clearly drawn father. The father knocking the kid from his chair with a backhand swipe will hit home with many.

[Michael (MV)]

Hi Kenneth,

like the undercurrent of the Pied Piper by way of the fife from bone ("Lord. make me an instrument of Your peace.")


Workshop-consider as:

Now I run the streets of town


Michael (frère noël)

[Kenneth2816]

Thanks guys

[Billy]

Really like this poem, powerful. To me the final stanza doesn't deliver like what comes before. I don't have any suggestions at the moment, but am pondering it and will return.