Fathers and Sons
By Bill Glose

Fathers should never die
before they are grandfathers,
when sons most need
guidance, wisdom;
when, seeing through
parent’s eyes, their
world transforms
in the blink of birth
to one brighter than
a rainbow, sharper
than cut glass.

Fathers should never die
before their boys are men
who can fit but one
calloused finger
in the clasp of a tiny hand,
muscle and steel
softened by the velvet
of a baby’s crown.

Fathers should never die
before sons thank them
for life lessons, say
“I love you”
before a funeral
requires it, when
farewells flutter
like so many petals
down a hole
in the damp Earth.

A Lesson from my Dogs
By Bill Glose

When I encounter
well-meaning friends
who boast of success,
offer career advice, suggest
alternatives to writing,
I ask my dogs,
the reasons why.

“Do you ever worry,” I say,
“what other dogs think, wonder
which ones growl behind
your back? Do you crave
better chew toys, designer food
from a can? Ever wish
you were something else?”

They pant and wag till
I snap on leashes,
open the door, then
they sprint outside,
towing me behind.

There’s a whiff of something
on the breeze;
they must investigate,
sniff and run,
be what they were meant to be.