jake

My father knew I couldn't
be the son he'd always wanted,
smiled instead at the son I had become.
Handed me a hammer and box of nails
at four years old.
Taught me how to mix good concrete, cut boards...
the proper way to handle a wood plane.
He always had such strong hands for a lawyer
for such a gentle man.
"Tuck the pencil behind your ear kid
it'll stay".
Lunch with the boys - iced tea and bottled beer -
cold sandwiches he would make himself.

At fifteen he would get me to play hooky -
drag me with him to watch his car
outside some pale Bronx courthouse.
I would steal his cigarettes
and lean, smoking on the fender of
his black Lincoln Towncar
arms folded across my chest, cigarette
dangling below my eyes - puffed up and bold.
The son of a king.

Jake "AJ" Muckle
01/17/02