My father is a whale ‒ big blustering.
I donít love you said his wife, his foe.
She was his Ahab, her words harpooning.
My mother passed away twelve years ago.
She hid in a closet with a Jack Daniels.
Till father came home and discovered her.
He would blow like the whale and rail.
Now he canít hurt her any longer.
Like Ishmael, I am both a witness and child.
At his age, I donít want to wound him.
Heís still a whale blustering but milder.
His shoulders bend, his eyes grow dim.
Heís someone Iíve come to know
Loves me despite his bravado.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Marjorie
Sadin would be pleased to hear them.