a quiet man he was
the smiles were rare
signs of affection
non-existent
yet his soul came through
his goodness
his quality
his concealed intelligence
I can see him in his sleeveless tee-shirt
cigarette in right hand
a pen in his left
doing the New York Times crossword puzzle
at the dining room table
he would watch Jeopardy
and reel off the answers
one after another
under his breath
he'd survived 3 heart attacks
diabetes and emphysema
years of working 2 jobs to support 8 children
but the alzheimers was unforgiving
and eventually wore him down
my Father
like his son
had buried a facet of his early years
his gift for verse
which I discovered unbeknownst to him
before his passing
in the early hours of one recent Winter's morning
I heard him call my name from the foot of the bed
I take it as a sign that one day
we will share our love of poetry