It Was the 1970s

It was the 1970s
The lobsters were in the sink
The water was set on boil
I stood on a chair

my father's height
and dashed water on them
until their eyes moved
My father who was finishing 

his Miller Lite grabbed a clam
and opened it with his knife
There among a broken shell
a soft cream rose and then fell
like the inside of our hearts

(For You)

Today you left
the trapped
sense of playing
your part to
the history books
Paid little attention

Left the things
that the artist sketched
on canvas
the sunrise
breaking into puddles

you saw
the arc of it
Even now

with the poem getting 

smaller

through

it’s minor deletions

you still see 

what is just leaving

leaving and 

what is just left