Of Giants and Small Gods

Cleveland Poems: A Suite (3 of 3)

(for BA and Mr. Makee)

On the day my friend
told me he had cancer
he also spoke of the time –
nearly sixty years ago –
when our 6th grade teacher
took him to a father-son dinner.

“My dad was dead
and I was crying because
I couldn’t go to the dinner
but then my mom called out
‘Your ride is here!’ and Mr. Makee –
I knew it was him right away –
yelled ‘Hurry up; we’ll be late!’
so I threw on my uniform
and flew down the stairs
and I was the envy of every boy
at that Cub Scout dinner.
I’ve never forgotten that.”

Thus was I reminded a poet
has no duty more sacred
than to sing the praises
of giants and small gods.

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Joseph Neely, all rights reserved

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