A Gift from My Old Man (a Curtal Sonnet Attempt)

I have no fear in posting unpolished pieces. It's part of the process.

And I like a good form challenge. I haven't mastered this one yet, but I had fun working on it. This poem was an attempt at a curtal sonnet. 

It just so happens I have a wonderful memory of my dad pulling over on a road trip, so he could gather cattails for my mom. 

I guess that is where this poem began, though my father was not a townie or a clowny. He was a very nice man with a great smile who helped anyone he could. 

The day after I wrote this, I was out for a hike and came across a patch of cattails. I love synchronicity. 

Cattails in the Desert

A Gift from My Old Man

One humid nightfall when out for a walk,
he hoofed over to an open wet ditch
to clip cigar heads adorned by downy
fleece from atop a towering, stout stalk.
He hunched over his back without a hitch
and winked like an old, bald, toothless townie.
I got this, he said, wrapping meaty palms
around skeletal stems, when his eyes twitched
his whole body became rather frowny,
and my prince charming became a sitcom
clowny.

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