subtext

the slow revelation at the end
of the day: you’re seven in the park
you charge up the ramp yet again
you shout “Look, Daddy, look”
and you see him on the bench
placing his book in his bag
he looks across the sea of children
and for a moment smaller
than a hand gesture you see
a sadness in him beyond
any loss of a hamster or bike wreck
and you know the day is done
and the shade of of the trees grow darker
and you and your father grow old together