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Poem

Father’s toes are steel-capped,
Rough, worn-out leather, a layer
Of thick polish that cracks 
With each bend, each step.

His feet carry a child’s weight,
A bundle of laughter and bouncing curls
Balanced at his ankles, shuffling
Across outdated carpeted floors.

A moment of decompression
After a day of hard labour, father
Carried the child from infantile morning
To the matured evening.

There came a time when the child,
Older and weary, thrust father’s feet
Upon her own, her arms under his.
Mimicking the act of childhood,

The child walked her fatherly puppet,
The body limp, unresponsive, 
Across those once-carpeted floors
And into a place of refuge.

Father and child rely on each other
To pick the other from sullen ground,
Shake off the dirt and grime of worry
And lift them pridefully to their feet.

Father and child are joined in blood,
The same small features, the wide smile
That consumes half the face, and the ethic
Of working hard for little merit.

Father’s steel-capped toes stepped aside,
Gave way to slow movements with purpose,
And heavy breaths subside 
Any desire to pick up the pace.

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