My Father     There He Is Always     With His Death At 47

by John McKernan

Mowing the lawn
At sunset

Carrying death
In a pocket at midnight
Washing dishes in the kitchen

Putting death In that blue Buick’s glove compartment
As he drove off to buy concrete at dawn
For the houses he was building

Looking at death
In the rearview mirror
As he drove through snow
To pick up children at noon
The day school was cancelled