For Henry Midgley
Some fathers obsess over numbers.
And when all comes tumbling down,
There is only an echo of restraint,
A dictate unfavored,
A moral that isn’t.
Others know to invest.
And it is risky. What defines a child
Is luxury taken for granted; the cries
Emitted for privilege; perhaps also
The moral that remains.
Other poems written by me:
- A Daughter to her Parents on Their Anniversary
- Wolcott’s Heraldry
- Good Friday
- Still Life
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