For being so black
so muscular so well curved
like a groomed show man
too fit everyday for barefoot
he made us boys feel
we could kill him

For laughing so deep
down notes from soprano
like a tied stallion sighting
a pan of water
he got all laughter stopped
to listen to him

For treating ticks
like berries gathering
and the half dead cow
in a bath of herbs and oil
he sat all day in tall grass
sweet-talking weak jaws

For tipping out warm pockets
of sticky sugar plums
or sat-on bananas
or squashed up naseberries
he made children descend
on him for things past ripe
For expecting my mother
to make money like food
and clothes and be the sum
of every question
he made us go deadfaced
when he stayed in

For drawing his name 'X'
and carrying a locked head
to explain stars
like a treetop pointing
he made us acknowledge him
keenly in rage