Dexteram Patris

Uncomfortable
seeing him that way,
and she,
ever supportive,
gently touching
his arm
for reassurance

but there is a failing,
something not the same,
although in looks
we are so similar.

The Prodigal returns
and sees his father,
straight of back
and stern of countenance,
falling to pieces.

The once proud frame -
busted

and she,
as beautiful as always,
by his side.

This will be you.
Like father, like son,
like every
Odysseus
returning home.

And when, you too,
start to lose stuffing
and the world unravels,
you will remember them.

Mother.
Father.
The quiet discomfort
of not quite right
that marks him out
as transient.

For we are all
sitting in
our fathers
favourite chair.

 

Inspired By: photograph by Richard Nixon (c) Rich Pictures

https://www.facebook.com/richpicturesphotography