When I was young he taught me how to be
A man; I only wish I could recall
Just what he said. Was it in something small
Of cooking, gardening or darts that he
Exposed his wisdom bare for me to see?
Or should I look to how he built his walls
And webs – the lies, attacks, denials and all?
Or the garage in which he turned his key?

Although, why not say **** it to his will:
It’s true he lit the tunnels’ exit where
He left, but now I can’t see through the glare.

But yet, I hold these memories with me still,
For as I trudge defiant on through miles
I bear his doom, and can’t forget his smile.