Sunday, July 29, 2012

My Dad


MY DAD

Did you see him pull in a Kahawai, hand over hand?
standing on southern rocks
spray, wind, cold
an oilskin parka
shining eyes
"A good one to grill" he told us
proudly slitting from tail to rib
with his knife

Did you see him making rabbit finger shadows?
in the tent at night
two poles, a vee of orange
"No room for kids" he told us
banished to the tin trailer
or to sleep under the stars
satellite tracking

Did you see him polishing boots?
first scrape off the mud
drying them in front of the Juno
brushes and cloths
spit and polish
"Every Sunday, you're judged by your shoes" he told us

Did you see him whittling with his pocket knife?
slivers of wood
poked into the Thermette
smoke everywhere
no matter where you sit

Did you see him tightening my seatbelt?
while I sat
nervous and excited
wedged into the fibreglass glider body
soon to be aloft in the quiet wind
cars, sheep and grass below
wheeling above the world
like a dream

Did you see him sitting by the fire in a rocking chair?
us with our hair wet
Dickens and towels
Oliver Twist, Treasure Island
all beloved
"just five more minutes before it's bedtime" he warned
yet caught in the story
we eke that out to another half hour

Did you see my Dad?

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