Ghost of Our Fathers

He was almost blind
They say it happens when you’ve been punched too many times
And his hands were stone
He was a bare knuckle champion in an earlier life
It was hard not to stare
At his busted up nose and cauliflower ears
When he’d smile at me
And say the toughest fighters had their souvenirs

How to carry on
When the hardest punch is thrown
Take away the burden from our shoulders

He lived next door
He’d sometimes get with my father and talk about life
And sit on the porch
Drinking beer and remembering happier times
I was a child
I was far too young to ever understand
What it meant to have a son
Who’d been drafted and killed in Vietnam

How to carry on
When the hardest punch is thrown
Take away the burden from our shoulders

My father and I
Tried to keep him company so his mind could rest
On Saturday nights
Huddled around a black and white TV set
We all stood and cheered
When Ali knocked out Foreman that night in Zaire
And later that night
My father held his hand as he broke down and cried

How to carry on
When the hardest punch is thrown
Take away the burden from our shoulders

There stands a wall
In a clearing across from the National Mall
Crowded with names
Of the thousands of children that never came home
I stood in the rain
Watching dozens of mourners stumbling by
When I saw his name
I felt the ghost of our fathers kneeling at my side