by David Sapp

Haircut Epithalamium 

Conspicuously missing, my old bones couldn’t quite get to my son’s wedding.
However, as the occasional soothsayer, I knew the nuptials were certain
And began to compose my intended epithalamium the summer before.

The augury wasn’t a predictable demonstration of courtship.
It wasn’t when they stole morsels from each other’s plates.
It wasn’t when they curled up on the couch as young lovers
are wont to do, forming that single multi-limbed mythical creature.

It was a haircut. She sat him in a chair in the yard
And draped a towel around his shoulders.
My son bowed his head, blissfully a boy again
Surrendering to her scissors, her precise decisions.

***

Thirty Dollars

Was thirty dollars in our mailbox got us through
In that sickly pea-green upstairs flat with the broken steps.
Bread, milk, hamburger, more than just one can of lima beans
In the ready-to-fall-off-the-wall cupboard for my little sister and me
Until Dad’s next big-big-all-but-done deal came along.
Dad said it was Gary, the nice guy with the thick black glasses
And shaky hands at the photo counter Rexall Drug downtown
Who once drank, married to Kay (who always seemed too gaunt,
Too worried), who’d lend a hand to anyone he could, whenever he could.
Wasn’t the money that got us through. Was the kindness. Was that simple.

***

Lifting Most Anything Heavy

Out back behind the machinery shed
Grease, rust, moldy hay, dry rotted lumber,
Old man and young man. Grandpa taught me how
Together two men may lift most anything heavy

I don’t remember what it was half-buried
In sod and cow manure. Something oak or iron
Suddenly useful again. Only that it needed moving
From here to there.

One works a pry bar beneath an edge and
Raises the levered end. The other pauses, then
Lifts the opposite side. It is a courtesy to wait
So no fingers are pinched. A few old men teach this.
A few boys remember this.

Image by Huebert World via Pexels