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
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