My Italian Father

Immigrant of past he took to the soil like a neophyte soldier protecting each tomato and basil plant with his bare hands he showed no inhibition when it came to baring his shoulders and digging fenced up holes in the ground, by early morning as he whistled a tune he worked contentedly in his little yard away from the bombast sound of his bocci rink counterparts , he was animated by the first sun of morning and tanned dark beneath the smolder of a rolled up cigarette and salty breath The lecherous stares of Canadian Lolittas were never returned for he was a loyal husband. Abruzzo born he contained love and gave it to his family with the fierceness of a mountaineer his Alpine hat hung on the hook, as a reminder of where he had found his beatific moments long ago ; Providence had it that he find a good job at a local hospital washing sheets and beddings. He never floundered far from home for his children were always on the wait for his smile his dolorous history, it was never shared as much as his joy. He was a wonderful father who taught me how to add, with sense of my sensibility, … best friend I ever had. 6/14/2019 Sponsor: John Hamilton eight word free verse challenge