Canned Father (edit2)

[Brownlie]

Leah edit1, Thank you

Canned Father

You consumed canned doppelgangers -- I think one of these descriptions may be good to start on, but the poem may improve with a subsequent clear description of the beans and veggies. 
of vegetable forms, mushy zombies -- I suppose mushy zombies gives a parallel sort of construction in sound, but it seems too much in combination with canned dopplegangers. Though, I will say that Franken Foods seem to be a relatively hot topic.
that you made me swallow,
sodden specters of daunting childhood -- One critique could be that there is too much redundant description here.
recollections that I vomit up -- This "vomit up" is interesting because it adds a gastric level to memories about food.
now and then.

Thirty years later, Mom told me
you were sorry Dad, but I saw your peas,
clad in olive-green army fatigues, --  I like the sound of olilve-green, but olive is a more specific shade of green on its own.
and shuddered at the ensuing combat.
It didn't matter that you were a war hero
who faced dispiriting Panzers, -- Perhaps a better verb than faced. Plus, Panzers are arguably dispiriting by their nature as threatening war machines.
liberated Jews from Natzwiller, -- I like these specific references they add a lot of weight to the poem to me.
subsisted on k-rations for months. -- Would you put an and  before subsisted? I suppose that is a stylistic issue.


As demoralizing as your -- Demoralizing is arguably a useful word here, due to the nature of morale.
Battle of the Bulge,
the dinnertime Vietnam War -- I like this line a lot.
News, or newfangled MREs,
were your baked beans. Dodgy,
whether canned or jarred,
staining napkins burnt sienna,
your skin color by late summer,
slathered with baby oil and iodine
like a bronze war memorial,
burnished and unpalatable. -- This stanza outdoes the first.

I cried over beans,
dreaded your Lima's -- Cried over beans and dread your Limas says the same thing twice right?
sandbagging my lamb chops.
They were skin-tough and bloated,
like peas in absurd disguise. Carbuncles
removed from botanical behemoths
that burst with a squirt
of gangrenous pus. I lanced
them with my incisors,
gagged on their waxy cuticles.

Dad, I am not sorry -- I don't think you need to add this bit. On one level, I think its a nice thing to say. However, this makes a very imaginative and thought provoking poem more "personal" (looking for a better word than personal) than it needs to be.
for loving fresh vegetables
and refusing to go to Dental School, -- Dental school may work in here. This is partly because of the association with teeth.
but I think of you often
since you have passed-

even if forever reminded
of scary canned things. -- I don't like the word scary.



----------------------------------------------------

Canned Father

You consumed canned doppelgangers
of vegetative forms, mushy zombies
that you made me swallow,
sodden specters of daunting childhood
recollections that I vomit up
now and then.

Thirty years later, Mom told me
you were sorry Dad, but I saw your peas,
clad in olive green army fatigues,
and shuddered at the ensuing combat.
It didn't matter that you were a war hero
who faced dispiriting Panzers,
liberated Jews from Natzwiller,
subsisted on k-rations for months.

As demoralizing as your
Battle of the Bulge,
the dinnertime Vietnam War
News or newfangled MREs,
were your baked beans. Dodgy,
whether canned or jarred,
staining napkins burnt sienna,
your skin color late summer,
slathered with baby oil and iodine
like a bronze war memorial,
burnished and unpalatable.

I cried over beans Dad,
dreaded your Lima's
sandbagging my chops.
They were skin-tough and bloated,
like peas in absurd disguise. Carbuncles
removed from botanical behemoths
that burst with a squirt
of gangrenous puss. I lanced
them with my incisors,
gagged on their waxy cuticles.

Dad, I am not sorry
for loving fresh vegetables
and refusing to go to Dental School,
but I think of you often
since you have passed-

even if forever reminded
of scary canned things.

 
I like the idea of this poem and think there is definitely some stuff to work with.