by A. S. Maulucci

Created on: April 22, 2009

MY FATHER LOVED TRAINS

My father was a solitary man

who didn't mind drinking alone.

He tried to do the best he could

to live in a world of his own.

He had an ear for the heartbreaker blues,

could burn them on guitar,

but never danced a swoony waltz

like the smoke from his slender cigar.

He would have brothered Falstaff,

both lovers of bread and ale,

and matched him laugh for laugh,

if only he'd read the tale.

But the shelf he kept for books

was small and cluttered with models,

and the place reserved for me

was no bigger than a bottle.

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