The room was crowded, somber, stale, dark. A wake? No Shiva! (and I'm not a Jew). The widow's look at me, a question mark. I didn't know them or what I should do. "And who are you?" I froze. "I'm Marty's boy." Then from the back, "Wait. Marty Fitch? That guy with duct tape saved my life." I felt such joy. With hand shakes, hugs I stood. I thought I'd cry. He was a handy man who knew each tool. From holding things for him I'm sometimes deft. He wanted better things from me like school. I'm older now than he was when he left. I woke up feeling grateful, glowing. Glad I was his son, and proud he was my dad.

 Please support PoetryVisualized.com. Any amount helps | $1 | $5 | $10 | or more |
Thank You!