I sit at a table surrounded by suits and bland hotel food
I stick out like a piece of glass on a beach full of White sand
People who never created but
only replicated
what others had.

He turns to me, through fake chuckles
and a mouth full of prime rib
His neck tie riding the wave of his belly
"So what does your father do?" he asks...
Though in fact, he really wants to to know
where I stand
on the tedious spectrum of haves and have-nots.

Without a moment of hesitation,
I say the truth
"He passed away last September 11th
he was an artist, a painter.

No, you can’t find his work on the internet

He was unemployed
For quite a while.
He spent a lot of time with my brother and I.
(there is a presence of tenderness floating from my stomach to my heart)
And he was a chess teacher
Honest.
Creative. Uncompromising in loyalty."

Now picking at his over-steamed greens,
he can only utter an apology for my loss
and through his discomfort he turns away from me.
To discuss golf
sports
real estate
and other topics to measure people’s success.
Those fake rehearsed chuckles around me
Make me miss your cynicism and the beautiful dark clouds
you used to place over my head.

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