Bad Hobby
From his pocket, my dad pulls
A roll of wooden toothpicks
Bound with a rubber band.
We’re driving to the V.A.
To have his toenails trimmed,
As we do every three months,
“A standing appointment,”
I used to say to him,
But he no longer gets the joke,
Asking only why I can’t
Do it myself. And why won’t I?
I’ve catheterized him,
Twice, but can’t bring myself
To tend his feet, so like mine,
Wide with high arches —
Ballerina feet, my mom
Called them, none of us dancers.
Now that he’s lived with me
For almost as long as he lived
With her, I’m beginning
To look like mom — pissed.
The podiatry techs are always good-
Natured, thanking dad for his service,
Raising their voices when
I remind them he can’t hear.
The big toenail on his left foot
Looks to be made of horse hoof.
They cut and file but never
Hurt him. Some vets smoke outside
The building, waiting on rides.
“Don’t ever smoke, Kath,”
Dad says, “it’s a bad hobby,”
Scrambling his words, forgetting
Our ages and both our pasts.
The toothpicks he saves and reuses,
Even when broken, he calls
“A bad hobby.” And the drinking
He once was well enough to do.
Vets here age out at Korea;
Most are Vietnam, Gulf, Iraq,
Afghanistan. Without a draft,
Many of us soon won’t know any
Personally, only the poorest of us
Serving. Like sports, the art of war
Holds little interest for me,
Though both are everywhere on
Display and, in theory, I get it:
Offense, defense, spectacle,
Competition. The Renaissance
Painter, Uccello, was commissioned
By a nobleman to paint the famous
Triptych of the Battle of San Romano,
A skirmish really, between
City-states, fought by mercenaries.
More than the birds he was
Nicknamed after, he loved linear
Perspective, using mathematics
To create a three-dimensional
Effect. The work hangs
In three European countries now,
In keeping with its divisive history,
And is considered Uccello’s
Masterpiece. Painted with egg
Tempera on poplar, it reminds me
Of the tarot, with its broken staves,
Like toothpicks, and sexy horses.
The gold leaf’s intact
On the bridles, but the silver
Of the soldiers’ armor has oxidized,
Darkening to ghostly shades.
My mother’s hobby was painting,
Is how I know.
Uccello’s daughter, a Carmelite
Nun, was described by Vasari
As “a daughter who knew how to
Draw.” None of her work survives.
Hobby derives from a Latin
Diminutive for horse, from which
We get hobbyhorse, as in one man’s
Sport, another man’s war.
On the other hand, habit
Is defined as a sustained
Appearance or condition, from habeo,
Meaning “I have, hold, keep.” Known,
In some cases, as hard to break
Or more useful broken:
A spirit, a promise, a horse.