tristan

sometimes he sits behind the house
in the quiet 
in the dark
the air thick and fragrant
with the rings that escape from 
his mouth.
he takes a pull
slowly exhaling
alone with his thoughts.
he wonders how he got here
a life stacked high 
with real responsibilities
with little eyes that look
to him with questions 
and in awe
a wife with soft eyes
of expectation
trusting him
to lead.
a weighted sigh 
followed by another heavy pull,
the soft glow of embers
tucked in the hollowed out
wood 
keep him company.
he is tired.
the days of getting wildly lost,
the loud and rowdy card games,
and the chance to explore 
unchartered territory seem 
a distant memory.
where is the sense of purpose and drive?
where are the opportunities 
to exude strength and vision?
he desires to be a man of honor,
of wealth and integrity.
what do i have to offer?
he thinks sadly to himself.
the thing he does not realize
is that he already is a man,
a man among men
worthy of respect.
he takes the time to teach his
oldest son 
who batman is 
and how to push a lawn mower.
he dances with his daughter
as she giggles with glee.
unasked, 
he rises early in the morning
to prepare the most delicious scones
for his wife's bible study.
this strong minded one,
takes time to teach, 
to listen,
to instruct
the city kids are smarter 
because of him.
He works with his two hands
to build his wife a home
sweat, determination,  
an ability to create 
are all skills not far from him.
He quietly, thoughtfully
makes decisions 
with his wife and family foremost in mind
his heart is to please, 
to serve,
to be of use.
the long brown strands, 
get swept from his face
without thinking,
his son unknowingly 
copies the same mannerism.
as he sits alone
blanketed by the dark
he smiles to himself,
what a wealthy man i am, indeed..
restful exhale.


followed by a full on hacking cough and congested heart fail
because he shouldn't be smoking so much. ; - \