Abused By Illusions

Papa Familias

Shaped to precision with a two-inch strap.

Filtered through innumerable sermons
constructed entirely of curse of words.

Tainted by the artist's own apprenticeship
to his unforgiving patriarchal architect.

Painted with a brush bristled with
an utter lack of parental patience.

Frescoed from salvaged pigments
plucked from scant and scattered smiles.

Sculpted from the insufficient clay
of too few laughs diluted with infinite tears.

Cut from outings that were almost bouquets
but ended up on the florist floor.

Composed of hard notes that turned what
should have been upbeat jazz to delta blues.

Thus stands this monument we jointly constructed
You and I together with our own blood, sweat, and tears.

© C.I. Abramson, 2004

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