Lesley Choyce - My Father, Shaking Pepper

It was his only vice, I think
for wars were waged at dinnertime.
My mother, silent, all of salt,
would watch his waving wrists with frowns,
his grip around the greywhite glass,
his mind intent on holding ground.
He seemed not sure of when's enough
but peppered plates till seasons flew.
At length, he'd sneeze a stormy gust,
my mother's face spoke: justice done.
She'd cluck her tongue and shake her head,
he'd smile and wipe his glasses clean,
then truces grew around the meal
and love was served its honest share.
So warmed by spices hot as this,
I simply couldn't help but stare.





Autor: Lesley Choyce
Titulo: My Father, Shaking Pepper
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