musing on a moment

 

I am now officially wise

Eliot's age and older

I should be rhyming

Whining musically

I am sesquipedalian

Expected to know

Youngsters vacate their seats for me

Call me uncle, thinking they are being respectful

A veteran to throw riddles at

This is the age my father was

When his frailties struck my teenage angst

What I would give to be 

In his head then

He remained calm

While I struck out boldly

He smiled like a God

Said I was his blood, proudly

So here I am, thirty five years later

Officially wiser

Still, little more than a spoilt child

Staring at that beatific smile 

Searching his eyes, for meaning

So, here I am, jumping back into the heaving night

And a benedictory, healing sunshine

Beating on, floating, a boat tossed in the currents,

While he smiles, somewhere