lost at sea
said the whites of his eyes
turning red as the clock ticked on
clutching a beer like it was his youth
napkin folded at his side
wiping clean false hope and massacred dreams
to be tidy while watching
the baggage pile up on the broken conveyor belt
emptied bottles and blurring lines
like june festival lights in the berkshires
to my surprise
I didn't recognize the man who'd raised me
so I cried for my father
and I cried for his father
and I cried for the stars in Santa Cruz
that would never shine quite as brightly.
