My father always had a picture
hanging up over the mantle.
It was an oil,
possibly acrylic, painting.
I've always been terrible with art,
and the definitions and distinctions
therein.
It had a gold-leaf frame, and I recall,
as a child, staring at the shine
that the sun reflected off of the
beautiful gold that surrounded the
picture.
The picture itself, however, was
far more extraneous:
a deer head and the body of a businessman.
The suited businessman's body sat in a chair,
within the painting, but instead of a man's head
poking out of the collar, there was a deer's head.
It was adorned with antlers, two to be exact, and
it sat above that mantle, staring emotionless into you
or the distance.
I was never sure which it was.
And after my father passed, I inherited the deer head
and the body of a businessman.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
My father always had a picture
hanging up over the mantle.
It was an oil,
possibly acrylic, painting.
I've always been terrible with art,
and the definitions and distinctions
therein.
It had a gold-leaf frame, and I recall,
as a child, staring at the shine
that the sun reflected off of the
beautiful gold that surrounded the
picture.
The picture itself, however, was
far more extraneous:
a deer head and the body of a businessman.
The suited businessman's body sat in a chair,
within the painting, but instead of a man's head
poking out of the collar, there was a deer's head.
It was adorned with antlers, two to be exact, and
it sat above that mantle, staring emotionless into you
or the distance.
I was never sure which it was.
And after my father passed, I inherited the deer head
and the body of a businessman.
I have an idea for a series of poems revolving around the title of this particular one. I hope to see it to the end as well as pick back up on some previous goals of poetry.
Request permission to use this poem