On Meeting my Step-Father After My Mother Died
My Mother died, and left alone
A quiet man I thought I’d known
His loneliness made even worse
By Covid’s isolation curse
I owed him much for not being there
While he took on my Mother’s care
But how would meeting up turn out?
What was there now to talk about?
I found a man with steel and grace
With steady eyes and open face
His quiet now not cowed but calm
His eccentricities his charm
This third-born eighty-something soul
More used to playing a minor role
Dismissed the dramas of our past
And welcomed in a different cast
Hair-raising yarns of wayward youth
At time’s remove, he tells with truth
His early years, carefree and bold
A treasure trove of tales untold
Although we’d never spell this out
He has become without a doubt
The Father that I never had
A pal, a funny guy, a Dad
