Dad.

When most people look at my father

They see a tall, broad, fearless

man.

Two broken fists

6 ft 3 inches

and a confident stride that sends him soaring

across our yard

into his pickup truck

and away.

But I know that he reads poetry

sprawled out on our sofa

His curled, thinning hair

Tight and dark with the remains of a cold shower

Glasses perched on his crinkled forehead

Eyebrows furrowed over

clear blue eyes.

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