Stroke

From deepest American myth,
the tragic figure of my father
pilots his German convertible
one-handed past ageless fields

to a little town that adores him,
home for all but the four years
in Champaign, then six months
in Chicago, until his father died,

these days leaving a pretty new
wife busy planning the big move
at the lake house every Monday
for his setup too good to let go,

he says, collecting commission
on the years coursing through
ever-rising, ever-falling fields,
...