Ingredients

                       Ingredients

That photo of the man, his little son,

And summer sunlight on their cuddling skin

Has disappeared.  It was the only one

Jill had and most importantly no sin

Could be detected in it. But it’s lost.

Jill wonders if Ray disappeared it out

Of jealousy.  The August sun had glossed

The father’s armpit hair as if to shout

That fatherhood should not be air-brushed from

Some sweatless realm. The infant held in crook

Of arm should not be raptured from the slum

Of druggies, even those like Dad who cook

Their fix with flick of flame before they plunge

Thrill in. That man was Dad despite the grunge.

Phillip Whidden