I wrote the first version of this poem around twenty years ago in San Antonio, Texas. My late wife, a city councilwoman at the tine, was attending a National League of Cities convention, and I had accompanied her. My father and stepmother drove up for the day from their home in Kingsville, about 180 miles…

This is the first in a series of explicitly autobiographical poems I intend to post: “Do you have a knife, boy? I watched his fingers as they Tapped the arm of his chair. “Every boy needs a knife." I wanted one, all right, One like his, Small and sharp and bright with the sun I…