Father

My father

smoked Cuban cigars

and slept in the sunlight

his skin would tan

never burn.

He’d watch the ocean

when he awoke,

those salty seas that knew him better,

than any human could.

He’d lived a life at sea,

making wishes on stars we can’t see.

My father once stood tall,

a booming presence,

made small

by greedy disease

and broken promises.

Misunderstood

by everyone but Poseidon & his sirens.

My father

sipped Laphroiag

spoke about the war

and lamented for the sea.

He came crumbling down,

like the statues of dieties

in empty temples.

He returned to the sea foam,

the same that birthed

Aphrodite.