Poetry Sunday

Today is Sunday, December 13^th, and it would have been my father's 92^nd birthday if things had gone differently. Dad passed away just shy of eleven months ago, and the hole in my heart where he used to be is slowly starting to heal. This poem by George Bilgere uses the metaphor of taking out the trash to talk about love, loss, and the things we learn along the way of life.

Taking Out the Trash

by George Bilgere

I remember as a child
watching my fader take out the trash
at the frozen crack of dawn, cursing
as he dragged the stinking cans to the curb,
and thinking, that's not something
I'm ever going to do.

In other ways I was a model son,
standing at the mirror as he shaved,
dabbing the warm cream on my cheek,
dreaming of a razor
and whiskers of my very own.

Watching him light up
as he read the Sunday paper,
one eye squinted against smoke
and bad news, had me reading the funnies
before I could even read, my eye
squinted against nothing.

And the deft, one-handed way
he straightened his fedora's brim,
while at the same time
adjusting the coordinates
of rake and tilt,
makes me regret that the hat,
like my father, has vanished,

along with the strop and razor,
and lathery bowl of curds.
Even smoking, and the Sunday paper
are on their way out.

These are the losses I'm mourning
this morning as I drag the stinking
trash cans to the curb.


Have a good day. Come back tomorrow for Musical Monday; more thoughts then.

Bilbo