Allen Whicher's Love Tale

The night he saw his old man on top,

Allen Whicher said, he nearly shit

with fear, but not because of what

he saw, which wasn’t much, it

was he wasn’t supposed to be where

he was, and he was, and he thought

Hell, I’ll catch his worst strap sure,

and to hear him tell it, now almost

crying, he struck first, shouting. Dad

up and grabbed his belt and wailed.

I’ve thought this over and think now

that Allen Whicher lied, as boys do

when first faced with crude facts

involving their mother and more.

I can’t say what he saw exactly, or

what fear he felt, but it isn’t only

place or time, wrong as may be, that

sets a father’s scream ringing clear.

One day our son came in and knew

to choose the door we couldn’t shut.

It’s like so much else, said my dearest,

just ignore what hurts, as you don’t

see the heart attack on the street, pass

the man slugging his child, wish a girl

luck with a flat on a fast, dark road.

And if you stop, trouble has its sly way

of sticking long after you have gone.

Just wave, think what Allen Whicher

said that no dad can bear, keep on,

think how the story will be told,

years later, at the table, finally alone.