Dad always took me to the movies.
Our tastes were democratic –
Cowboys, gangsters, Eastwood,
All sublimely cinematic.
Other fathers and their kids
Went fishing or trifled with a ball.
We spent our Saturdays indoors,
Pale and happy, in a theater at the mall.
I would sicken with suspense,
Shedding disbelief a happy task.
Dad grew thoughtful as he sipped
From his surreptitious flask.
As the screen announced “The End,”
We critiqued the ugly, good and bad,
Then braced ourselves for the big review:
Mom panned the movies, drink, and Dad.
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