Sundays too my father got up early
and puts his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
Annotation: The poem had a very cold feeling. "Blueblack cold". This poem reflected the hard times of Robert's childhood. The hard work his father endured just to make sure his family was alright. Robert wished he would've had a stronger relationship with his father. He didn't realize what he should've done until he got older. If he could he would go back in time and change some things so that he could have a better relationship with his father.