Father

To claim
 
the house shook
every time
he came home
 
or to give the impression
that we all stood to attention
and prayed we’d pass
his rigorous inspection
 
or to suggest
if we were found wanting
it was Mum, not us,
who’d be forced to pay
 
(‘I’d never hit a kid,’
he’d say
- but to batter
a grown woman
who ‘should know better’
was another matter).
 
Well,
that would be untrue.
 
No shaking house.
No ‘rigorous inspection.’
 
No harshness
from my father.
 
No fists.
No histrionics.
 
He was the kind word.
The helping hand.
The caring Dad.
The thoughtful husband.
 
‘A gent.’
A gentle gentleman.
 
And my aim,
still,
is to be like him.