He was, in many ways, an introverted man, largely because of his hearing loss, and one of the strongest images that I have of him, from my childhood, is of a stern figure bent over the family Bible, silent and pensive, completely oblivious of his surroundings.
THE FISHERMAN
My father,
grey as a heron, thin
as a wafer,
the Good Book spread before him
like a silver pool
would sit for hours
unmoving, silently still,
his bald head bowed,
one finger poised
as though to spear a mystery.
Oh my dear father,
what beguiled you there?
What held you
rapt
while, slowly, slowly,
ticked the clock?
What strange fish lay,
unmoving, deep
within those well-thumbed pages?
grey as a heron, thin
as a wafer,
the Good Book spread before him
like a silver pool
would sit for hours
unmoving, silently still,
his bald head bowed,
one finger poised
as though to spear a mystery.
Oh my dear father,
what beguiled you there?
What held you
rapt
while, slowly, slowly,
ticked the clock?
What strange fish lay,
unmoving, deep
within those well-thumbed pages?
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