Picture of My Dad in an Aircraft Carrier
photo by Kieth Dodson
by Patricia Aya Williams
December 1970
Dad at a desk turning to face
the camera, left hand on the keys
of a typewriter, right hand resting
on an open drawer, white pencil
lifted lightly, ready to erase
the mistake he’s just made—
one that I can’t see—on the paper
poised in the platen, the clatter
of type his quick fingers command
momentarily stalled.
The carrier’s walls—color of dirty
dishwater, hospital grunge, un-
healthy looking. On the bulletin board
above, poster in bold sanserif:
Why do you think they call it dope?
And kitty-corner to Dad’s head,
racy pinup, naked woman posed
facing a stairway, one foot on the first
step, her body angling towards
the viewer, towards me, towards Dad.
They make a cute couple—his
tattooed arm, her suntanned ass.
Why I never saw it before—how their
bodies face each other while their eyes
face the camera. Both smiling,
hers full and friendly, his genial yet
mysterious. My dad, male Mona Lisa,
keeping his secrets to himself.
Patricia Aya Williams is the author of Failure Goddess (Dancing Girl Press, 2026). Her full-length debut poetry collection, Ichiban, won the 2025 Concrete Wolf Louis Award and is forthcoming from Concrete Wolf Press. She lives in San Diego with her husband, Christopher, and dog, Binxy Elton.
Known more for his poetry than pixels, Keith A. Dodson has dabbled in photography for over fifty years. Recent work has been accepted by Ink In Thirds, LIT Magazine, Split Rock Review, and The Penn Review.
