Dad, dear Dad

Dad, dear Dad

I found my father

Standing tall with his faded hat slouched
rabbit rifle on the farm
and a cheeky grin,
in the box, under the others.

And smiling by the sepia fence
near the bountiful orange tree
where the garden grew the beans for the kids
and I mixed mash for the chooks.

And in the shop, with the curled edges,
where chairs were reborn
with flock and tacks,
masterful movements,
and a fabric of care.

I found my Dad today
in my box
under the others,
under the stairs.

Robert G Barnes
9 November 2013
For George Henry Barnes 1924-1978