Dad's Tales (rewrite)

I never tired of my father's tales,
even if unsure to believe them;
they were just so wonderfully surreal
life should have been exactly his way:

Rattlesnake city (famed Rock City now)
gave up its writhing denizens
to dad's scout troop one Sunday in August,
nabbed for their venom for serum.

They tried to twist off Owl's head walking
around his tree, as Owl followed them,
turned his head, always turning, tracking;
they couldn't see the rapid twirl back.

Drunken birds crashed, sobered, flew away
when eating wild cherry tree berries;
they were not really drunk, but choking -
the impact knocked the pit free - they lived.

During the second world war his team
inspected bypass water projects;
drove dank dark tubes in a model T
high above, miles along the river.

Flying school: he crashed, thought dead at first;
splintered fuselage into throat and
out his cheek - instructor cut it out,
right back up - avoid fear of flying.

Coast Guard: his aerial unit caught
rum runners at sea from Canada
Mom met him at the Kennedy beach;
he was drunk - so what happened out there?

He piloted a cargo service
with his dad & uncle - had to leave:
flew too oft' under Walnut Street bridge
despite Federal threats of grounding.

He freely recalled earlier times,
Poles and race weighed different meanings.
Times I felt embarrassed to hear him,
yet I could understand who he was.

Years since he spoke his last smokey breath,
I recall his tales - cherish each one,
mosaic shells, like a Russian doll,
inside, a lively man dancing words.