learning to lose
since the day I was born
twenty-three days after that day
which forever lives in infamy.
Mother spent my early days
riveting Boeing bombers,
father spent days and nights
generating ‘nough acetylene
to weld a thousand Kaiser ships,
six thousand B-17’s.
Hardly anyone had time
even to hear me cry.
Lost our home after
big brother’s asthma;
no health insurance to pay the bills.
Spent a year living in an old motel,
dad four hundred miles away
working night and day to pay rent, buy food.
Nearly lost a hand
when it went through the wringer,
left my hand shaped like a cup,
little beggar who couldn’t do for himself.
Hell, feels like I’m still losing.
Sure don’t expect to ever Win.
Probably end up just folding
these cards, slipping away in the dark.