a song for the son

last two years I’ve been on my own Christmas day
not planned, except I like to sail my boat
and do a lot of it alone
 
makes a man sentimental
that kind of life
and that kind of day
 
got to drinking
 
remembering family
come and gone
 
cried here and there
for some old endings, still alive in my chest
and for some new beginnings
in there too
 
the usual drinking-alone Christmas day
 
then
a thought that had me undone
 
there are two photographs;
 
one is of my father
smoking
kinda squatting down on the ground  
boots, jeans and heavy work-shirt
thinking hard
 
he died ugly
beaten by his own head
until it had him convinced  
suicide  
 
the other photo is of me
same age as he was when he died
I’m sat on a couch
smoking
boots, jeans, heavy work shirt
thinking hard
 
same beard
same grey
same look in my eye
 
what I got to thinking was this;
I am what I think I am
and I carry that image of my dad around
like a sailer wears an albatross
bad luck
pulling me under
 
wrong shoes to fill
 
so I got up to my feet
on christmas day
lifted my eyes to the clear blue sky
and spoke out loud to all the dust in the world
 
“I’m my own man
 
this is my life
 
I’ll be whatever is in me
 
not what was in someone else”
 
then I sat back down
 
cried again
 
 
 
 
 
it made me happy