Uncle Phil

I have chosen an unflattering view.

Having housed, employed and fed me,

My memories of Phil should not rush past

In search of rightful disdain.

He had pictures on the office wall,

And narratives of his virginal conquests 

That might embarrass a 17 year-old.

Phil drank to claim his manhood.

A very smart man

With a hurt child’s sense of worth.

Drink could unmoor his heavy lifeline,

Leaving a 7 year old who could not ride a bike.

“Look at me! Look at me”! He pleads.

“I am who am, and I have money.

See me as a winner,

And I will offer you a ride on my yacht”

Mom loved her brother, as he loved her.

And she forgave him his excess. 

Dad saw Phil take Mom’s money.

Phil bought Dad a new car. 

Phil wanted so-o to be noble,

To give without being asked,

To be recognized as a wizard

With the touch of “everyman”.

Dead now 15 years,

There are moments I recall his generosity,

But always, inevitably, I see him

Trying to ride the damn bike.