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Unionpack
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by Dan Schreiber
mom tells me he has an incurable lung disease
treatable
he spent his youth
the great depression
bustin’ broncos
on wyoming homestead land
at one
and odds
with the elements
breathing oxygen most of us can only dream about
now he breathes oxygen© most of us dread
he rode in his teenage buddy’s packard
to watch them carve mt. rushmore
and talk to the dynamite workers
high on pre-OSHA scaffolds
‘until a girl fell to her death’
now he has trouble scaling the stairs to his bed
he cast his fly in every alpine pond the tetons had to offer
and filled his basket on the way back to camp
where he waited for his elk-hunting partners
and prepared a feast of rainbows
now he rests in an armchair after surveying his half acre
he walked to work through his 70’s
in the same slaughterhouse that had been the largest on earth
during omaha’s beef heydays
[the one i ran to at 11 or 12
where only he could find my hiding place
above the dormant cattle pens
to ask, ‘are you ready to come home now?’]
until the bastards decided he was too old
to do what he was
now he holds the tank in one hand and vacuums the living room with the other
he held (holds) an unwavering faith in the God that created both
these lungs
and the minds
that created
the stainless steel dust
and ammonia
that have destroyed these lungs
[in nearly 30 years i have never heard him swear
but his ‘foolishness’
puts ‘bullshit’ to shame]
he has been to me the epitome
of Patience
of Resilience
of Self-Reliance
of (true) Christian Love/Tolerance
of MIDWEST
Frank Thompson is my grandfather
grandpa
and tonight i’m not sure whether the Pride
or the Anger
defines me
as i define myself
by my endless attempt to be a man
he can be half as proud to call his
grandson
for him i’ll have faith that we’re not just rearranging the deck chairs on the titanic
that this world IS beautiful and worth fighting for
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Dan Schreiber
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