My Father's Journal

He kept a journal from '63 to '75.
After that they kept it for him.
Charts of bodily functions;
records of taser treatments of the brain;
directives from blue-jeaned,
Ivy-leagued doctors from Hanover
prescribing doses of melaril, artane, thorazine,
and other assorted chemicals;
reports on occupational therapy:
"Today, he refused to go."
"Today, he refused to go."
Except for one day, with trembling hands,
that once caught line drives bare,
he etched on copper the shaky outline of a train.

When he went home
he tried keeping it again.
On occasion, he wrote things like:
"-23 at 4:00 a.m."
"16 inches of snow today."
Until he finally gave up,
sat and waited
for that final entry
he himself would not write.