Endgame

You called often, that cold February day,

           you called to let me know

you were ready to ride my fabled steel pony.

Mounted up, you said, like a tried-and-true wrangler,

           riding through a gallery of the past

           with no hope for a future.

You rode that pony hard, right to the edge of the abyss,

            turning, you let me know,

                     at

                       that

                          last

                             possible

                                moment

                                   in

                                       time

the taste of cold, oily metal

             fresh in your mouth,

                           you

rode away, leaving that decision for another day:

only I was behind you, like that old-West marshal with his limping sidekick,

          dragged along by your lasso of love, dragged to the edge,

          not able to turn as you did, left staring into that endless

                                          loveless

                                                  void

                                                            .

I struggled to look back,

       only to see you riding

              toward that terrible viral flame

                       ...once again.

Odi et amo: I hate and I love. -- Catullus

I.

Once he watched, through a fence,

       while the boy threw a ball.

His undivided attention, thru a fence,

       the boy had it all.

Something he wanted, tho, not the boy;

       a scene to be repeated and repeated ...

Nuclear family, nuclear war, no clear joy;

       kiss my ass, boy, you're defeated.

II.

Behold the flame, yellow, hot!

       A field burns, smokes, for neighborhood fun.

Did the flame just appear? Likely not.

       The flame was wanted, loved, unlike a son.

Again it appears, held beneath the boy's fingers,

       burning yellow, burning hot, caressing the flesh,

While siblings watch, nuclear winter lingers.

       Kiss my ass, boy, it was just a father's guess.

III.

Years go by, bringing another boy to love, be wanted:

       at the right age, burn his flesh? Don't know how.

Can the flame not burn with love? Does the vaunted

       flame carry no message? Pain is now

Withheld and resides within, only love is the release.

       Fingers and heart, unscarred, can play ball.

Nuclear family, atoms for peace,

       kiss my ass, boy, the future is all.

IV.

Old, sick, the house is full tonight, ready for bed:

       not one remembers: the greatest generation is dead.

The man no longer recognizes the boy, never did;

       what happens between hate and love can't be read.

There's nothing here, what was is done,

       beginning or end, you figure it out.

Nuclear war, mutual deterrence, nobody won.

       Kiss my ass, Dad, it wasn't a rout.