I can think of no heroic act
Though he was a sailor
And served in the Great War
Before coming home to us

He was a workhorse though
An ‘aholic for the things he most loved
A man’s man, a military man
Proud, stubborn, fair and loyal

Out on the front lines, he smoked to the end
And drank until they told him to stop
And he loved us all, the wife and his
Favorites, perhaps, even a little more

We had no inkling of the coming storm
If he could read the signs he never let on, never spoke
of the candlemaker’s breath blowing debris against
his heart flickering with uncertainty in the night

I believe he would have risen to the moment
Had their been one, but his was a life
Of cold bologna sandwiches, schedules, unpaid bills,
juxtaposed with heartfelt laughter

Looking back it was his masterpiece
And we see now the corner he painted himself into
Lying in his underwear on the floor hardening into stone
With his one arm extended, reaching out.

-Dennis DuBois………..for Father’s day

Thanks from a father who once was also one of those “two little children”

Dorian