My Father's Lunch My Leader’s Pool
Saturday afternoon, End of the month,
he'd sit at the kitchen table he’d float on the water,
in khakis and a workshirt. in a blue swimming short
White napkin, a beer, the serrated knife. Body guards, waitress, trainers.
Pieces of prosciutto or headcheese Amarula at his disposal or Ciroc
or kippered herring all in fancy and curved glasses
layered on slabs of black bread. brought to him by a beauty
Outside, the ripe hayfields Awaiting, the media guys
or the stacks of shutters
or the angered citizens
or the forest needing to be cleared or the policy waiting to be argued
or the snow needing to be pushed aside or the opposition waiting to scold
lay still as they waited for him all silent as they waited for him
For now he was ours, For now he belonged to the pool,
whether he smelled of chokecherry, whether his costume was torn,
tractor oil, or twine. name tarnished or mudded
He'd washed his hands He’d been cooled by this water
with brown naphtha soap cool blue and medicated water
and splashed water onto his face it had cleansed his every body part
and shaken it off like a dog. and felt so good like a dolphin.
He'd offer more ham, more bread He’d welcome all, need to swim
This was work, too, This was leadership, too,
but he did it slowly, with no impatience, but he did it relaxed, less pressure,
not yet reminding the older boys not yet consulting his advisers,
that he'd need them later of what the opposition was saying
or asking the smaller children or asking his chief campaigner,
if we'd stored the apples if there was enough funds,
or shoved last year's hay or the voters still cherished him
out of the wonderful window if they would elect him
This was the interlude This was the optimal satisfaction
of nearly translucent slices, giving every body part a cool taste,
of leaning back in the smooth wooden chair of backstroking on the water surface
and wiping white foam from his lip and letting hands fly on his butterfly,
as the last beads of beer rose calmly as his body sank deep to the coolness
We could see it was an old meal His style was common,
with the patina of dream with the passion of professionalism
going back to the first days contemplating the career begin,
of bread and meat and work. of failure to know and inadequate skills.
All our lives, my brothers, All our livers, the citizens,
my sister, and I will eat the non-citizens, and I will
this same meal, savoring join to swim in this pool, admiring
its provisional peace, the present equality and equity,
like the peace in the grain room like we walked together to the ballot box,
after we'd scooped the grain after we’d had listened to all on the list
and the agitated flakes of bran and the burning flame of ignorance,
had slipped back down into the soft valleys had bounced on the citizen’s deafness
where they would remain a situation they would dwell in
until it was time to feed the animals again. until it was time to vote again.
The poem My Father’s Lunch has used flashback. In a lay man’s interpretation, it has looked back to analyze what happens, before, during and after the dad takes his lunch. Therefore, the imitation poem has started by using flashback to look at a political leader who takes a break from his official duties to relax and have some fun in the swimming pool. To some extent, the initial poem echoes the theme of the fact that there is time for everything. For the father for instance, he spends too much time in the farm but this poem concentrates to the time when he is away from all that and he is enjoying his meal with the rest.
The imitating poem hereby takes into consideration that the main character to symbolize should have an influence in society. Therefore, instead of adopting a father figure, it goes for a political leader. In this case, little is being concentrated on his political and leadership mandates but rather, it looks at him when he is concentrating with his luxury giving minimal attention to the media and opposition that awaits him on the other end. My Father’s Lunch and the imitation have all demonstrated the theme of how hard work will always pay in the end. There has been symbolism on the two poems. For instance, the initial poem has symbolized a dog on the third stanza while the imitating poem has symbolized a dolphin on the same stanza.
Longfellow, H. W., & Fuller, E. (1967). Poems. New York: Crowell.