Older and Frailer
I avoid thinking about my childhood
Unless someone asks me to tell them
Why I am the way I am
And then I’m forced to
Or I lie
And usually
When I talk about the distant past
I spend that time remembering my dad
Whose influence always finds
Its way to the surface
Of my thoughts
The quickest
He would yell when he got angry
Mutter when he knew he was wrong
And condemn
When warning me against things
That could lead to harm
But as he got older and frailer
With age and a failing heart
He also would
Own up to his yelling
Muttering
Condemning ways and speak
With genuine contrition
Until the last night I saw him alive
And I knew that he
Loved me more on that night
Than on any day
Which had preceded it
© Copyright 2014 Bill Friday
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