I Never Said Goodbye

We weren’t very close
in the traditional sense
not back-slapping buddies,
nor kindred spirits.

We would never have met
on the street
we’d have gone our separate ways
oblivious to one another.

We could never agree
on politics, religion, morals —
he was the Rock of Gibraltar
I was a rolling stone.

He was of another time
when people still believed
in the dream
and fought to protect it.

He held but one job,
loved but one woman
and raised two kids
in a kaleidoscope society.

His European parents whipped
him into line early on;
he never had the luxury
of being a rebel.

For 70 years,
he suppressed a call to the sea —
it filled his senses
at the first hint of spring.

I watched him hunt his own food,
fight his own fights,
look any man in the eye,
and ask for nothing.

He wouldn’t cater to your dreams
try to buy you off
lie to you or
give you a free ride.

He was tough, but he was fair
he was John Wayne
before there ever was a
John Wayne.

He disapproved
of my aimless wanderings,
but he’d be waiting for me
when my bus rolled in.

He never saw me act,
recite my poetry,
or attended my plays,
but he’d slip me a few bucks from time to time.

He’d just lost his lady
and his health was failing,
but he came all the way to New York
to attend our wedding.

That was just it
he was there,
always there,
you could depend upon it.

I lost him a year ago
three thousand miles ago
hospitalized one day,
gone the next.

He didn’t get to see how tall
his grandson got
or hear me say “I love you”
or even say goodbye.

I think of him often
the way he’d lose himself
in yesterdays
and smile at a secret.

The way he’d shake your hand
you’d feel that this man
was granite –
a man of his word.

Whatever good I have in me
I got it from this man,
and his lady.

We’re so close, now that he’s gone.