not by its neck
my grandfather's
bottle.

his penchant
for the bodies
of things.

were the prayer
of his line
too broadly
cast

he'd say
good fish
and go hungry.

saved
every Sunday
christ
in both cheeks

and fought
all day
drunkards.

     once fattened
a crow
for his son
run off
 
but could not
watch it go.  

once choked
for nine months
a man.

so full
of stories
     I am not like my father

who died
today
in a field.