poem of the day 12.10.12

round corner

they weren’t men

they were relatives

it was like being hit

from all sides of the family tree

and each one of them took up a stool

at the round corner

to drink and waste another saturday

fathers sitting next to sons

next to uncles and grandfathers

grandkids like me

my own grandfather hungry for this place

more and more since his wife died

so we’d sit there and drink together

never speaking

but we never spoke anyway

occasionally he’d re-introduce me

to some cousin that i hardly knew

and we’d stand there like mute fools

until he walked away shaking his head

wondering what that was all about

or some uncle who told me a story

that i’d heard a thousand times over

and hours would pass this way

as college ball played on the televisions

and the bottles of iron city beer piled up

and conversations turned into accusations

old family grudges egged on by alcohol

and no discernible lunch

until the barman kicked us all out

into the ugly pale light of the afternoon

telling us to go on home

to mother and daughters

sitting next to aunts and grandmothers

in cramped pittsburgh houses

their palpable disappointment

cooking in old gas ovens

bringing these men to their knees

brittle like wilted roots on a dying oak

and back to the same hard stools

the very next weekend

to do this kind of genealogy

all over again.