Paternel

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 His feet carry a child’s weight, A bundle of laughter and bouncing curls Balanced at his ankles, shuffling Across outdated carpeted floors.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