One day after we unscrewed a bunk bed

He told us to stand outside instead

He would shake the bed to bring it down

I peeped as he jumped in fear of the wood pouring down

It was a month after her birth

A celebration brought to earth

A phone call and few murmurs later

In the dead of night, I woke up to him weeping like a youngster

One night after he certainly threw them out

Fought with them all like master and hound

I stood there and watched with teary eyes

When pride takes over that’s the prize

In the dead of night, he woke me up,

Showed me his wounds as if I’d seal them up,

Spoke to me with the victim’s eyes

He waited for me to take his side

I have not any fancy word to describe this,

Not any metaphor to compare with,

My father is not the strongest man in the world

-Winniefred F. Gbemuotor