Thursday, November 8, 2012

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:


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

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