my father's piece of art

i remember

my father sitting on the front

porch,

smoking,

and drinking

a beer

as he carved out the face

of a pumpkin.

digging

out the soft

mushy guts,

removing the top,

and then setting a candle

inside.

he then lit it with his

lighter

and stood back, 

as the sky grew dark.

he asked us

what we thought.

great dad, we said as one.

i don't ever remember

him

being so happy, so proud

of his one

and only piece

of art.