So Much Depends upon a Broken Windshield

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So Much Depends upon a Broken Windshield

Nightmares awaken, and I remember
again my father’s goodbye,
Vivid images of exhaust smoke
trailing an old Kenworth, diffuse
as wisps of black clouds, a gathering
storm of gloom circling my fear. Before
leaving he forgave me for tossing
the ball through a windshield, for
disappearing after school one day, and
for those things that 6 yr olds somehow
manage to get into when they shouldn’t.
Only fathers can absolve these sins. Like
Jesus, his hand placed upon on my head, he
exonerated with a promise to return soon.
A broken promise.
With a new life, a new wife, new children the word
disposable became meaningful long before
aluminum cans, paper diapers, plastic bags.
Forty decades after forgiveness, forty dark years of denial
he reappeared one Easter Sunday
during resurrection service.
A sad old uncle seeking exculpation for lost years
I the son became the father.
We embraced, dined and played with grandchildren,
said our goodbyes, promised to reunite.
A broken promise
Maybe   just maybe
if I hadn’t shattered that windshield
he might    just might
have stuck around.