Dad by A.W.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is just a poem about my Dad, when he was among us.

Submitted: March 19, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 19, 2008







This is a poem to my father

Who is alive despite an exploding heart.

My father who walks with me

Or alone between the wings of geese and ducks.

My father, the alcoholic, like my brother,

Always fighting with cruel biting words.

Who never watches TV except for his 5 O’clock

Business report, stopping only to photograph

Flowers or a cat.

In the old photos my Dad is impossibly

Young, his face unlined, white-blonde hair

Cut into a crewcut, his face is not severe,

But open laughing.

They used to listen to jazz in clubs

In Minneapolis.  My Mom wore cat’s-eye

Glasses in those pictures even in the

White wedding one.  You never looked so

White in your formal wear.

The stars are out tonight.

My father who knows he is my favorite,

But still they lie to each other so he

Won’t have to deal with me as I am-


And we are so like each other,

Are you afraid you’re like me? 



© 2006 Anne Westlund

Image: Ducks_by_TheDeadStare (

© Copyright 2018 Anne Westlund. All rights reserved.