Daddy Danced-A Poem For My Father
My Dancing Daddy
Daddy worked overtime for years and years and drove a
long way, surely he was bone tired at the end of a day.
But after dinner, he always twinkled those mischievous blue
eyes, ran a freckled hand through unruly sunset hair.
And then, Oh! Then! For hours my Dancing Daddy danced with me.
Daddy danced with me perched tiptoe and light as a feather
on the tip of his dirty and workworn boots.
How many weary miles they had walked that day only my Daddy
and God above knew. But I never saw the dust of warehouses,
parking lots and the Carolina red mud coated thickly there.
Daddy was always to my adoring eyes, suave, well dressed and
Clark Gable debonair.
And when Daddy danced and double dipped across the floor,
a skinny little girl became a swan and danced in the stars.
Tiny satin clad feet stood atop his steel toed size 12 and I am sure
he never even felt my foot there.
My dancing Daddy cupped my palm in his callused hand,
smoothed my riotous red curls that were just like
his and smiled while love shone through those windows of his soul.
And Daddy danced, swirled and whirled; laughed out loud as we twirled
around and around while we grew-me to a woman that could not stay
while he slowly faded and faded away.
Daddy’s bright cap of hair lost its sheen, became soft as a silver moonbeam.
Old man pajamas and slippers concealed the places that were swollen and sore.
Except in memories and dreams, Daddy never danced anymore.
Until the day Daddy went home and I feel sure that when he met up with Jesus,
My Daddy once more jumped up and danced with joy.
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