Improv - Yusef Komunyakaa, "My Father's Love Letters"

Uncle Ricky,
the worldly one who tinkered with machines
and let the Air Force mold his throat
to concrete from stuttering mud
sent postcards and phonecalls from
Colorado, where the nerd roams

Act II, where the story twists--
he wasn't at tech conferences
or guitar-themed bonfires, he was
straight-laced to a fault:
His fault was loving men.

At nine, he was already
accepting his mother's dress
for his own; her heels
his feet, her paint

his war. The dust's long
settled now, Paw-Paw was lowered under
and can't stop Liza's fake tits
with the Cross Maw-Maw now carries.

as for me I haven't gotten a call
no matter 'cause I love 'em all.