Always a Dad

Marie (not her real name) was telling some of her co-workers about her recent visit of a few days with her father.

Her account was interrupted, though, as she recalled one particular detail of that first evening back home ... in Detroit, I believe it was ... and burst out laughing.

This poem, written well after the fact, tells the story, I think:

ALWAYS A DAD

Marie, a young exec,

on the first evening

of a few days' visit

with her father,

dined out with a trio

of school-day friends.

Opening the door softly

well after midnight,

she found her father

dozing in his chair,

yesterday's newspaper

asleep on his lap,

just like the old days

of curfew and concern.

She gently scolded him

for waiting up for her.

Saying he really hadn't,

he struggled to his feet

and silently received

an understanding hug.

© 1996

(originally published in Anterior Poetry Monthly)

***

Today's word: dozing

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

And sweet of you to say so, June. Thank you.

I'm glad you identified with this one, Marti ... and I especially got a chuckle out of your description of that return visit after you had moved out ... your observation about it.