My Father

My father is a whale ‒ big blustering.
I don’t 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 can’t hurt her any longer.

Like Ishmael, I am both a witness and child.
At his age, I don’t want to wound him.
He’s still a whale blustering but milder.
His shoulders bend, his eyes grow dim.

He’s someone I’ve come to know
Loves me despite his bravado.

Marjorie Sadin
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Marjorie Sadin would be pleased to hear them.