Pack Up the Daddy

So gone, spinning bobbin free of thread,
The needle can't pick up the nothing bobbin,
The foot pounds down the cloth leaving no dent at all.

So gone, the records won't be packed,
The velvet cleaner with its mystery oil and
The phonograph donated, the speakers toppled in the trash.

So gone, the desk unsloughed its paper skin layers,
The leather stamp box from Spain and the brass bell
And pennypot from Yugoslavia haven't stamps, tongue, or pennies.

Stick around, we're packing up the daddy
His vanity frames of medals and awards, the conductor's stick with cork grip,
the perfect photo of our mother, when she was so young it makes his eyes water.