You're not my father
anymore. I know why.
You belong to the thing,
the growth, the disease
the way a raccoon
hovers in the clutches
of the aged tree he perches in.

Sad circled-eyed critter
clings to high branches,
afraid of the pit bull
that yelps at his sluggish tail.
So cunning cancer corners
a youngish man
who was once my father
but is now a set of claws
gripping a bark for salvation.