Dad.

A symbol of humor and comforting words,

Of an enormous Lego collection and a well-kept goatee;

Glasses and work boots smelling of earth;

Making truffles on Christmas;

Reading picture books about men and women who fight evil.

He doesn’t know he’s one of these people:

Super,

Fantastic,

With the special power of making me laugh.

 

Learning old rock and roll lyrics in the car,

A yellow FJ Cruiser, bright bumble bee amid white and black and grey,

He bought it just to make others do a double take.

 

Of the voice of reason,

And the, “Are you sure you want to be out this late?”

 

Of a love of traveling,

That now exists within me.

San Francisco

And stories of moving across the country,

He stays himself through it all:

A kid at heart,

Who makes puns and sarcastic jokes;

A protector,

Who shields my sister and I from every villain;

A fighter for love,

Who take my mom out on lots of dates;

A wanderer,

Who ventures the U.S. and explores the woods of Mississippi;

A writer,

Who imagines comic book characters and fantasy lands.

 

He is himself.

A superhero in a world of unknown superheroes,

Connected by the sole job of loving their children.

Hero.

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This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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