A Good Man

Since he first walked, he made the outdoors his while at home, paternal love was shown with fists. His Mother’s love wasn’t enough for him to resist leaving home and his Father’s frequent body hits. He fell to his knees, “God, I need to be a man and I’m only fifteen, so please hold my hand. Father, help me become a good, good man.” He worked many farms, rooming in barns. He learned about crops, he learned to build, he developed farming and carpentry skills. He paid his bills, never let his loneliness spill. He bowed his head, “God, thanks that I am fed, I have a roof, a bed and work skills in hand. Please, help me, God, be a good, good man.” He grew to love labor under nature’s sky. He felt he and the country saw eye to eye, but in society, he wasn’t sure how to get by. So, at eighteen, he gave the job corp a try. He locked his fingers, “God, bless my stand, as I find my way in more industrious lands. Help me grow to be a good, good man.” A new widow stands by her husband’s fresh grave feeling the love-grief flashes their sixty years made. She looks at their grown children, searching for his strengths, and sees his traces in these faces, love-linked. Later, at twilight, alone on their country porch, she sees city skyline in yonder darkness approach. She knows each night, she will sit here most – with the lit outline of sky scrapers he designed, spied from their home he crafted in his beloved sunshine. In tears, her head bows, “Thank you, God. Glory to your plan that blessed me with the love of a good, good man.” November 25, 2016