your father was a gambler
and the story of his life
clung to the seat of his pants
and the holes on his knees
your next meal was always
just a deal away on some nights
his hand was rock steady
his steely gaze was cold and firm
and not even the unattired thighs
of a jezebel could distract him
after he had sniffed the money
so you flourished in a home
that was a blooming oxymoron
with a hard-faced survivor
of many knife duels for a father
and a mother with a lovely face
and a mardi gras queen smile
my fickle heart was rather coy
and my tongue was quiet and still
when i should have sung your praises
and extolled your awesome virtues
and your resplendent face in the dusk
faint heart trembles at the altar of her grace
but brave buck walks to his fate with zeal
so i kneel and i meditate your serenity
wrought by art alive in your hungry heart