Portrait of My Father with the Letter V
BY BILL HOLLANDS
Valedictorian. Ivy League. A virgin
when you married, or so you said
when we had “the talk.” To me you were all
Aqua Velva and a vodka martini in the evening,
two olives on a toothpick. You taught me
to replace a divot and how to pronounce
vichyssoise. Avowed Democrat. Achievement
a must. In your prime unbeatable
in Trivial Pursuit and a suave dancer
to boot. Vain enough to own a toupee
but kept it hidden. Private? Veiled?
Reserved, for sure. Did you grieve
for your son and wife? Poetry lover,
you’d have preferred something formal here—
a villanelle perhaps, and you’d have known
what that meant. Dad, I’m sorry
this is simple free verse. Nevertheless,
a valediction. You were all vim
and vigor to the very end. Covid death
number twenty-five thousand, give
or take, now vapor.
