People used to ask
Who is this man?
He walks the road
like a soldier
His bearing straight
his measured gait
He touches the rim
of his hat with his
walking stick
as you walk by
People used to ask
What did your father do?
A pastor by chance?
A professor of school?
Because he spoke softly
Because he shook your hand
and you felt his dignity
But didn’t understand
I, of course, I never knew
the man behind that scene
I knew the man who listened
to classical music, weeping
The man whose nightmares
disturbed our nights
Of which he never spoke
his story never told
I wondered too
Ellecee
Day 13 - NaPoWriMo 2024
Prompt - Dignity
from TP_Poetry
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