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My Dad painted by Francis Bacon

November 18, 2015

Someone off-stage, drags him by the hair

his face smudged upwards, chin tilted, chest bare,

gum-shield and tubes smeared left.

Jaw a palate cleft.

 

Behind, red blips and peaks of hope

monitor oncoming strokes.

 

I stare, eyes shut,

open to a ballpoint click,

the curator is at my side

dressed like a nurse, face of a guide.

 

'You can touch him if you want to'

I do

 

the paint is still wet

a fingertip touch is all I get.

 

We wait all night for 'Three Studies of the Human Head'

to dry back into my Dad.

 

 

 

 

 

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