Pome from a Daddy's Girl

I used to climb in your lap
and say Daddy, don't be sad.
And you'd always smile and say
I'm not.

But you were. After you were
gone, Mama gave me some of your
war letters to me.
You worried about what we'd do
after the war, to the losers.

The only fight you ever got into
was trying to stop a neighbor from
flying us around by our arms --
afraid of dislocation.

And I remember the family of eight
you brought home to live with us for months
because they needed us to do that.

And the little boys you escorted
through the shop so they could sell
pop to the workers. And then you stayed
an hour later to make up the time.

After more than forty years,
I still miss you.




jjl
6/17/2007