masculinity, men, poetry

Bryan

 

If I came home with

Good grades in English and Drama,

He’d sneer and ask why I couldn’t get them in maths,

Made me sit at the table,

Before congealing meals,

Until I finished or mum,

Would intercede,

She left him because of me,

Put herself through hard times,

I’ve never been able to express

How much it meant to me,

I saw him yesterday,

Wizened like a rotten apple,

In a mobility scooter,

I’d long since let go of the anger,

Like taking off shoes a size too small

I said hello and caught the bus

To work,

My life is good now,

And I became all he resented,

And all he was,

I wish him peace because there were

Are other fathers I’ve learned from,

They’re here, when I look in the mirror,

And my mum is fine,

I’ve learned from him,

And I wonder if he saw,

How I met his gaze,

Without anger,

And the way I carried myself,

As I walked on.

If not, it doesn’t matter.

I chose myself and those I love,

Over hating him.

 

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2 thoughts on “Bryan

  1. Illeana Knight says:

    “Wizened like a rotten apple…” “…taking off shoes a size too small…” Intelligently reflective piece. Excellent.

    Like

    • Thank you so much. He was a figure of fear to me growing up but I found, over the years, a measure of forgiveness and acceptance because I figured out I wasn’t the problem.

      Like

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