The Long Journey Home

My books are available on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=

I was living in California then

in the basement of a friend’s house

when I reconnected with my father.

He left the old folks home in Santa Maria

and moved in with me over in Lompoc.

Evenings we watched boxing on television,

talking about his glory days

fighting in the Navy.

He still had the way of studying a punch�"

the shoulder turn,

the weight behind it.

He loved Sugar Ray Leonard. He'd say,

“Look at that 3, 4, 5 jabs in a row.

That's how you do it, son.”

Me, being the budding poet, and Dad the

eternal English teacher, talked poetry.

I loved Dylan Thomas and talked endlessly

about not going gentle into that good night.

Dad always quoted something about bargaining

with life for a penny...

Sometimes we went to the off-track betting parlor

and sat with coffee and racing forms,

my father circling horses with a pen

like he was mapping out a campaign.

We used to go to the real tracks�"

Santa Anita, Hollywood Park�"

but the off-track place was good enough

to pass an afternoon.

I had a heavy bag hanging in the garage.

Old leather bag on log chains,

waiting to be punished. Dust flew

with every left hook and right cross.

Dad showed me things

I thought I already knew.

How to turn the fist over.

How the power comes from the feet and hips

before it ever reaches the hand.

After a while we decided

to move back to Iowa together.

So we loaded up the car

and started driving east.

We stopped in Las Vegas

and stayed at the old Showboat.

I played roulette�"

just red and black�"

and walked away up

a hundred eighty dollars.

My father played poker.

At one point some old drunk staggered over,

kissed him on top of the head,

and said,

“I haven’t seen you in years.”

My father looked at me and said

he had no idea who the hell the guy was.

Back in the motel room, lying in bed,

there was an electric hum.

And in that strange drone, it was as if the town,

the world, was saying… sleep when you’re dead.

Vegas does that�"

something humming in the air,

pulling you back downstairs

to the tables.

The next morning we drove on�"

Utah,

Wyoming,

long highways stretching through the west.

Somewhere in Nebraska

the road disappeared in a cloud of dust.

When it cleared,

a minivan was tipped over in the ditch.

My father and I looked at each other.

I pulled over.

A couple of us tore the side door open

and helped the family crawl out�"

a man, a woman,

two scared kids.

They were shaken

but alive.

After a while

everyone stood around the road

looking at the van

like they couldn’t quite believe it.

Dad and I got back in the car

and kept driving.

We made it to Iowa.

A couple months later

my father was dead�"

a few weeks before his birthday.

Sometimes I still think about that drive.

The long road across the west.

My father beside me.

Talking horses.

Talking boxing.

The way he showed me

how to throw a punch.

Funny thing about punches,

you don't see the hardest ones

until they land.

Author's Note

Some poems are better heard than read.
I recently recorded a long-form reading from my book Sleep Always Calls.

Listen here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kH0fSZlrjno

My Books are available on Amazon.
— Thomas W. Case

Reviews

[Michael Sun Bear]

Great story telling Thomas. As a young kid I watched boxing with my dad. I still remember those White Owl cigar commercials. Even though he frequently seethed with a threat of violence I think my father was basically a coward. He certainly had no fighting skills that he passed on to us. Those memories of your road trip are special; you’re lucky there.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. Much appreciated.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

My dad and I occas went fishing maybe less than five times but I treasure it

[Thomas W Case]

Yes, life is built on memories. Thank you, Julie.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

That’s a beautiful experience to have had with your dad. Treasure it. I can see it as a short story coming as well.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you, Julie. I appreciate it.

[Chris Shaw]

Superb ending to this journey with your father. How you must treasure that reunion and the time spent together. Brought a lump to my throat you did Thomas.

Chris

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you, I appreciate it.

[John the Baptist]

This one very skillfully depicts the reunion of two family members on a long drive between California and Iowa. Several incidents are covered, but the father's teaching the son about boxing is the dominant theme. The father dies shortly after the trip is finished. At the end, the son observes that you don't see the hardest punches until they land. The father's death was that hard punch.

[Thomas W Case]

You got it. Thank you.

[red93]

Thomas you know how to tug the heart-strings despite yr 'hard man' image. Beautiful portrait, with a superb ending. Exceptional ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you, my friend.

[Rosie C]

This poem tells a charming, little story.

Comforting and reassuring to read. I admire your connection with your Dad. It’s quite a heart-warming sensation.

Some powerful imagery at play. I can sense this might be a sentimental piece to you.

I like how you hold on to those memories of people who mean a lot to you.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. I appreciate it.

[Coyote Poetry]

Powerful and amazing storytelling Thomas. Me and my father re-connected when I got older. He was a soldier too. We would talk till we could not.
"Funny thing about punches,
you don't see the hardest ones
until they land."
The above lines. So damn true. Your words took me back to some good days. My father died young and I miss him still. Thank you my friend for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. Much appreciated.

[Soren]

Thomas I love how the whole poem built up to the final lines. It was masterfully constructed with each line building in the story so that when the end was reached the message was received as that punch that was spoken of. It is heartfelt and gritty but that grit that comes from the dust of the past and when you breath it in it is familiar and smells like home.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you so much.

[Soren]

You are most welcome Thomas it is my pleasure

[Neville]

I submit, you just got me beat and poetry licked brother T .. write on & always .. neville with a humble n 😎 .. 👍

[Thomas W Case]

I'm humbled. Thank you, my friend.