Immemorial

I am my fathers son,

but the man he was

I will never become

swish

……swish

clink

……clink

I watch the amber liquid swirl

round the bottom of the snifter,

the old mans very own elixir,

how quick his fists of fury flew,

the beauty of his left hook thrown,

such elegance in its follow through,

My mothers arms

that hid her face

in graceful desperation,

how they flailed

but always failed

to defend for the duration,

the wrenching sadness

and sorrowful eyes,

the complicity of shame,

the violent madness

and silent goodbye,

the terror in my gaze,

swish

……swish

clink

……clink

in remembering

all these memories 

I always forget to drink.