Flying Free
by Jane Lang

When she searches memory
his face is blurred, a little hazy
no sharp edges define him
yet present in his presence

An understated though strong man
household of five, three female,
two male inhabitants–he usually
was outvoted, out maneuvered

She entered the mix matrimonially
he was an extra bonus, a WWII sailor
sporting an anchor tattoo
riding a Honda CB450
flying free like a seagull

He took up skiing in his fiftieth year
was often found underneath a
European sports car adjusting,
aligning misbehaving parts

He played the drums, and
was a shooting range habitue
a cool, glib dad
full of fun and pranks
a family-man
gone …
flying free like a seagull



 

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