Rose-tinted

by M. P. Powers

my father
whose father was a drunk
wasn't one
his drink was greed
he played the lottery, stocks, slots, craps & poker
he played with money that wasn't his own
and lost it
it's not like he didn't plan on paying it back
- he planned
but kept playing anyway
with his compulsion
while mounting more debt and juggling poor
excuses

my father
who never considered seeing a shrink
needed one
but wasn't one
to bother about his own soul
it was too dark in that abode
and too sunny outside
among birdsongs & lies
thinking about the next windfall
that would never come his way

hope broke all the promises it ever made
to my father
who spent some time in the clink
for an S & L wrinkle
and sank my credit
with a smile
pardoning himself with his reassuring baritone
and its creamy inflections

my father
whose wife and son (see: me) were pessimists
wasn't one
he saw the good in greed
- he kept it light
& liked to think his luck would change
that sunshine would crawl up his legs once again
and somehow
seep
into his soul