who comes
home every
day, dives
straight into
a tall amber
bottle, falls
into a stonewalled
well of silence,
a place where he can tread
the suffocating loneliness.
on the surface, he’s a proud
man. but just beneath his not-
so- thick skin, is a broken soul.
in his courtroom, he’s a tough
but evenheaded jurist, respected
if not particularly well liked. at
home, he doesn’t try to disguise his
bad habits, has no friends, a tattered
family. a part of me despised him,
what he’s done. what he continues
to do. another part pities him and
will always be his little girl, his
devoted, copper-haired daughter.
his unfolding flower.