My Father's Goose

My Father with his Goose, circa 1985

 Gus

“See he just bought the one and put it under

a bulb and when it hatched it was a 

head taller than the chicks and twice as hungry

so your dad just started feeding him separate.

That little guy used to follow him around ,

with those long legs a his….curious about everything. 

Then one day he was a big 30 pounder and

still thought of Harvey as his mother.

“Your old man couldn’t get in the car what the

goose flapped in after him….wanting to squeeze

in under the steering wheel and be petted,

big ole head hanging over Harvey’s shoulder.

And your daddy would stroke him, talk to him

a good fifteen minutes til he got him out

the car and locked in the pen. Otherwise 

he’d just run down the road after him. 

See ,your dad was a city boy, Richmond.

Didn’t know nothing 'bout raising farm animals. 

To him it was nothing but a love story…

nothing but a goddamned love story. 

When your father passed, that big ole bird

didn’t know what to do with” hisself”,

didn’t even know he was a goose,

kept on moping 'round the yard,

Your ma finally gave him to the farm

down the road where there were lots just like him….

hoping maybe he’d come to understand

that he was a bird. 

I wrote this piece from the point of view of the midwestern farmer who lived near my parents place in Newcastle, California.