Father’s Day Poem

My grandfather Hanlan and my Grandmother Judy raised.

When Grandpa died – just a couple of years past his retirement it was like losing a father.

When my Dad, Leigh, died – at age 53 – it was like losing a father all over again.

Father’s Day is always a little bitter sweet for me.

I wrote this a while ago – but it pretty well sums up my feelings on this Father’s Day.


These men, so tall
I swear you could hear the wind
whistling round their scalplines

my dad, his dad
leaned on the couch, legs on the coffee table
stretched long and lank as trestle timbers

talking of the world and their work
their boozy baritones booming deep and faraway
as a freight hog rolling through a long winter fogbank

reeking clouds of Player’s tobacco
their pliarboned hands waved magical smoke signals
nobody understood

the tang of Canadian Club Rye
bubbly Seven Up blended
with diesel tainted sweat

two old crows
talking treason
between the treetops

I was listening dad and I was listening grandad
and you both were full of crap
and I love you still.

yours in storytelling,
Steve Vernon


3 responses to “Father’s Day Poem

  1. I got chills at the last line. Such an expressive poem. Thanks for sharing it and happy father’s day!


  2. That’s a cracker. Lovely.



  3. Thanks Steve. That was very touching.


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