Archive 06/30/11

 

   

Lost Civilization

                                                                  

Troika and I, in a quiet, disciplined riot of camaraderie,

Sort his Star Wars toys from his Lord of the Rings movie props,

Every last Garbage Pail Kids artifact and stuffed dinosaur

From Transformers and G.I. Joe plastic action figures,

His X-Men and Wolverine comic books from miscellaneous titles.

 

Emptying out the three capacious closets in my high-rise,

Where he's stored his fabulous horde,

And having completed our mental inventory,

We begin the meticulous placing of the memorabilia

Back into the closets, confident we know what's there, where.

 

This Sunday, Louis Daniel Brodsky III, thirty-three years of spirit,

Is my little Troika, again,

A.k.a. Mr. Boy, Troika the Boy, Troy, Honey.

This retracement has happened right before my amazement,

As he and I excavated memory's lost civilization,

 

Exposing a hermetically preserved phase of his life,

Just who he was when last I knew the pulse of his imagination,

During those years before divorce devoured our family,

When he called me Daddy, Dad, Dude, Mr. Dude, Super Dude —

The larger-than-life, archetypal hero at the heart of his collection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

06/30/11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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