after Analicia Sotelo, “Quemado, Texas”
My father vanished into the land of creamsicles,
orange froth dripping onto summer sidewalks. The land
of family curled on the couch. TV land of Marsha Brady,
Kojak and Gilligan, where the echo of his good humor
resounds like the memory of reruns. My father’s outline
shadows the cross on the wall where Jesus suffered.
The coat he wore still carries the scent of his sweat
and winter. The tools in his shed distributed
between the two oldest brothers. Today is a rare day.
I have finally had the courage to tell him it was me
who stole the quarters off his dresser, though I know
sorry is no longer necessary. That I always thought
he was a hero playing the role of Fred Flintstone.
That the balance between how much I feared
and loved him steadily shifted as I grew older.
I remember him packing the Chrysler wagon
for vacation, working our way across the folded map
of the Midwest, Johnny Cash on the radio.
I was reading an issue of Rawhide Kid in the way-back,
his foot on the gas as the world fell away behind us.
Alfred Fournier is the author of King of Beers (2025, Rinky Dink Press) and A Summons on the Wind (2023, Kelsay Books), which was nominated for Eric Hoffer Book Award. His poems have appeared in The Indianapolis Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, Hole in the Head Review, Cagibi, The Sunlight Press and elsewhere. He serves as a community volunteer in Phoenix.