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Father
March 21, 2014
His jeans wear oil and rips like medals,
His beard wears tough with a slick style of metal,
His jacket signs of his home, and it's cold weather,
His smile tells me it'll only get better
His voice one I strongly remember,
His words never wrong with mistakes,
His eyes, not like mine, are calm yet opaque,
His insight a light,
To help guide ships lost at sea.
He is my father,
No matter how deranged the water.
© Harrison L., Ruston, LA
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