A generation ago in the hope of redemption
I would look into the mirror, and shave through the steam
Reflected in dim disapproval I'd see
Half the face of my father, the contempt that is me
Looking back in the hope of connection.

He's now younger than I am, since he died before time
And I no longer feel cowed at the tone in his voice
But this morning reach up to the root of the deed
Expressed in a context, and now finally succeed
To move through past the bones of dejection.

I straighten my shoulders and grin to the past
**** in my stomach, raise my hands to my face
Breathe deeply and uncouple a loud cry to the air
A little in sorrow, really not in despair
And draw back from the arms of the boatman