I was afraid of him, his sour breath, his drunken gait
brought on by gallons of cheap Gallo wine.
When I was nine, he married my mother,
just the two of them standing before
the Jefferson County Justice of the Peace.
In faded photographs his oil-slicked hair shines,
his arm, a shroud draped around her shoulders,
his crooked smile, a galaxy collapsed. 

I've read a couple times Sher-bear.  First reaction is good, but maybe too many modifiers?  I might let go of the "his" entries in L1.  Some tinkering follows -- ignore at will!

I was afraid of him. 
Sour breath. 
Drunken gait.
His gallons of cheap Gallo wine.

When I was nine,
he married [my] mother.
Two before the Jefferson County Justice of the Peace.

Photographs capture oil-slicked hair,
his arm, a shroud across her shoulders
[the shroud of his arm crossing her shoulder].
(not sure what this line is about -- > like my galaxy,  his crooked smile collapsed. ]

Very nice, Sherry--vivid and straight, the shroud, the collapsed galaxy strong images; as punctuated, "galaxy" has trouble belonging to "shawl" and then also plugging in as the collapsed outlook and stepdad's smile. Maybe a comma at "shoulders"? Tom

Hey Sherry,

You need to adjust the punctuation in the last line, probably the comma should go after 'shoulder'.  I like what this has become.  I disagree with Lynn (sorry, sweetheart, he says in his best Bogie imitation) about the modifiers in the first line, I think they are creating a rhythm that pulls through the rest of the poem.

Timoteo

[lynn needs to be disagreed with as often as not]

Like this Sherry as it is except the last line needs attention...maybe try it without
"Like my galaxy"  it is obvious what a detrimental impact he made without that phrase.

I have read this a few times and am partly in agreement with Lynn. Though the modifiers didn't bother me quite as much as the pronouns --- 13 in an 8 line poem. I'd revise in that direction, if mine. Probably nix galaxy too.
B.

Sher, A couple of thoughts to ponder.

Nice draft, mi amiga.

Maggie

I was afraid of him and what came with
gallons of cheap gallo wine: his sour breath,
his drunken gait

When I was nine, he married my mother,
the two of them standing before a Jefferson
County Justice of the Peace.

Faded photographs capture his oil-slicked hair,
his arm draped across her shoulders—
like my galaxy,  his crooked smile collapsed. 

The hardest thing any of us must learn to do, is trust our inner critic.

I prefer this as it stands, Sherry. It's a poem with a lot of weight, and my feeling is that breaking it up detracts from that, makes it lighter, and I don't feel that's what you want. I think you have it so well balanced, just enough, and want my hands on it. So it's a pick, whether it stands or is changed as others would prefer.

milner

Agree with Milner that this seems done, and is excellent. Tom

I think I could write an epic sized collection of Booker poems, but for now I'll allow this to sit.  He was my best childhood friend's father who married my mother after my parent's divorce. Thanks to you all for your suggestions and Milner thank you for seeing this through my eyes.  I'm literally up to my neck in the post Civil War idealogy of the "New South" and assignments for my poetry workshop which will be closed on the 16th. The poems about my sister are for an independent study chapbook due in a couple of weeks.  All is well and hectic in my world.  I'll come up for air.  Miss commenting on your poems but I promise soon.

XXX,
Sherry

wow
this is so well done, with so few words
a chill went up my spine as I read it

StellaR

Update: Deceased, 1995. Fell down the steps at a Birmingham motel. Died from exposure.