Bad Poem: Father Elephant

At the end of his life, my father became an elephant, 

And he walked in great circles, circles, circles,
And the psychiatrist said I should find him a labyrinth,
So, he could walk around as he insisted, and I said, “No. No.”

All of my life I have seen my father walk in straight lines, 

And I have seen him wrap his trunk around the tail ahead of him, 

And the one behind him holds his tail tightly, and his loyalty in, 

So, these great circles, I said, they are new and make no sense. 

At the end of his life, my father became an elephant, 

And he wanted to walk away from the herd to die, 

And the priest stood in front of him small and suffering, 

While father circled away into great rising clouds of dust. 

All of my life my father stayed with me silently, 

And his great elephant tears did not stop his circling, 

And the sheriff rushed to restrain his wild dusty limbs, 

So, I said, “No. No.” my father is not an elephant, he’s just off meds. 

At the end of his life, my father became a bull elephant, 

And his great ears flapped forward and he tusked and charged, 

And the oncologist side-stepped and I was trampled in dust, 

Then, father lowered his trunk to my crushed tiny corpse, and wept. 

Much of my life, my father walked inside lines of sobriety and family, 

And when he returned, at last, to the unelephantine father I knew, 

And the doctor examined him: my quieted father said his great, 

Elephant leg hurt, and I said, “No. No.” He must! Stop! Circling! 

At the end of his life, no one knew it was the end of his life, 

And we all tried to heal the great elephant wounds, 

And his tough hide resisted every counselor, all attempts, but pain, 

So, the elephant of my memory circled back into childhood. 

All of my little life, my father said to me, when we die there will be nothing, 

And he raised his trunk toward stars and space and trumpeted, “No. No.” 

And me in my smallness held his tail tightly and consoled us, 

There had to be something, I said, for nothing makes no sense. 

At the end of his life, my father became an elephant, 

And no one could stop his circling off on his own after all, 

And he went to the great graveyard alone and lay down, 

Then, the mortician said finally, “Here is his dust.” and I said, “No. No.” 

At the end of his life, my father became an elephant, 

And all of my life I will carry his great bones around.