My father was a dancing man,
Filling the house with movement,
Arms lifted to the call of the bouzouki.
When they took him away
The dancing stopped.
My father was a singing man,
Filling the room with hymns
And 50s love songs for my mother.
When they filled him with drugs
The singing stopped.
My father was a talking man,
Filling the silence with corny jokes,
Tobacco-stained teeth in a cheeky grin.
When he went to the home
The talking stopped.
My father was a loving man,
Holding his first and only sweetheart’s hand,
Carrying my baby photo in his pocket.
When everything else went
That never stopped.
Notes: Today’s prompt was to “write a poem that is a portrait of someone important to you. It doesn’t need to focus so much on what a person looks (or looked) like, as what they are or were.”