Some of the best poems you'll read - Perigee

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"The Sugaring" by Tom Sheehan My father hid his diabetes in black shoe tops. At night he peeled off bloody socks where veins found short circuiting. My mother bought white cotton socks by the dozens, band aid throwaways after work or Sunday best, after his heart pumped its way down long lean legs deep Nicaraguan paths had known, every baseball diamond Boston shook under red August skies, who-knows-what in Shanghai. Later on it went topsy-turvy in eyeballs' secret caves, refracting light into bones, porous humors going to sponge, into space where ideas lose out. When he sat to peel his socks from their red-wounding rounds, checking the salvage of the day like a crow beside the macadam, or thumbed a brailled king of hearts or a diamond five before he pegged me off the board, I used to congratulate myself for not saying anything to him. He'd shuck off such words just as he would an uncomfortable compliment: they paid nothing, they did nothing, they sat on the ear like old, old promises. Just piles of junk, he'd say,
the letter of vocabularies and sore intentions. Even now at cribbage or haberdashery, seeing apod men humbled to knee, clothesline flush with socks as if a semaphore is working, I remember how he crossed one leg over the other, fingered a sock, slowly peeled the skin away from his angry feet, casting off evening's surrender flag, like an Indian, godless, from his coals. >view as PDF< >next poem< >close window
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Some of the best poems you'll read - Perigee

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