Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I came out of the closet today.
I finally told my family
I write poetry.
My mother briefly clutched her chest,
my father yelled, "Those lousy Orioles!",
and it was over, no need for further discussion
and certainly not more details
after such a shocking confession,
they would need to time to catch
their collective breath, time to process
this startling revelation...
these folks with no bookcases
in this house where I was raised....
the parents with no books.

Oh sure, there were a few Zane Grey novels
tucked down in the corner of Dad's wardrobe,
but they were not book people,
no they were TV people, and could recite
the entire TV Guide to you each week
like they were reciting the Gettysburg Address,
and they only liked American things like
baseball and Miller High Life,
they were the elite, connoisseurs
of snowball stands, but books,
particularly poetry books
were for weirdos and gay people
and people that didn't respect the flag,
they were protesters, troublemakers,
muckrakers, and goody-two-shoes.

Daddy once said, "writin' ain't no job."
I think he meant career, he couldn't
believe it that there were actually folks
writing down "their little words"
while he was in Europe fighting
"The God Damn Germans"...
and no one in our lineage had ever been
a writer of a poet, "they was all workers
who built this God damned country"

So we nodded and pretended, acted
as if nothing was said, and Mom asked
if I could stay for dinner and Dad yelled again
from the other room, "that idiot couldn't hit
the broad side of a barn with a baseball
if his life depended on it "...and I said
under my breath, " nice to see you guys".....
slipped out unnoticed.

this is a perfectly charming piece, saw

fortunately, I was never a closet case

I came out of the womb honking iambs

my mother always thought I hung the moon because I wrote

lucky I guess

(but when I was 17, my father asked me what I wanted to be in life. I said, 'an artist.' He shook his head and said, 'ok, you will be miserable and poor.'
He was an artist.)

"...and I said
under my breath, " nice to see you guys".....
slipped out unnoticed.

made me smile. My father still amenaza to make a fire with some of my books & my mother´s books (that still are in his home). And each time that come to mine says: "if you didn´t have so many books and papers you could have more space for other things". I used to fight a lot with him. Now he makes me laugh and think that maybe he´s not at all wrong! . And on the other hand instead of a fire in the patio he keeps now the books in perfect order and even he read some of them and talked to me about it...

Thank you Saw, so much for this....
"slippin out unoticed"
slipping in unnoticed too.....
Just returned from a visit to my mom's, and indeed, your piece unchoked me up, reminded me that I'm okay again.

How little they realize us, conveniently sticking us into a small small slot under the drool of their righteous scorn......
Again, thank you for this.
H

thanx for reading, Lrod, Arcadia, hester....I enjoyed your comments..
i'm sure there are a bunch of us out there that can have uncomfortable
visits back home, literally...and figuratively