Half Fist

I've seen the family photos, and the man's a mystery
He died in 1942 at the age of 43
My grandmother was his widow, my father was his son
I know next to nothing of the first Loudon
They say he was an S.O.B. who liked to smoke and drink
In the photos he looks handsome; trapped, is what I think
And there's one of him in uniform, it must be World War I
They say he was an expert sailor, and could handle a shotgun
In the wedding portrait, posing with his young bride
His right hand hidden by her bouquet, his left hanging at his side
Closed in a kind of half-fist, unsure what he'd just done
Facing his short future like he could hit someone
It was elbows off the table before the meal begun
But it's his hands I recognize, he gave them to his son
Whose own hands held and touched me, ruffled up my hair
Yeah, and I recognize that half-fist, I'd know it anywhere
Later on in the late 30s he began to go to sea
In the photos he looks loaded, the observant eye will heed
Mugging for the camera, having a little fun
A cigarette in one hand, and a drink in the other one
Yes, I know a little something about the first Loudon
My grandmother was his widow, and my father was his son
Tell me, what are we afraid of, why do we resist?
I spread my hands and flex my fingers, open and close my fist