like a lighthouse

My father was often like a lighthouse
Standing tall in solitude
Isolated and wind swept
On his island peninsula staring out to sea
My father could swim well


And would set out from the boathouse
Swimming for miles
While the family slept
On the island peninsula. Staring out to see
The ocean rise and swell -


A sheet of satin lifted by the moon. Mouthing
Bashoo-Bashoo to the grass,
The sound of crickets
In the afternoon’s lethargy, the humming of a bee
Buzzing like a bell


Beating at the ears of corn bending in the mouth
Of the coming storm. The smiles
Of each child returns except
They are now smiling at the owl up in the tree
And not the sound of the well


Formed waves licking at the lighthouse
Now, standing in the door
Is our mum. She sweeps
Out the legless tarantula eaten most ungracefully
By our dog. Who now smells


The owl in the tree. Near the boathouse,
Between the broken ribs
Of the old shipwreck
On the island peninsula we can now see
Rowing in on the swell

A ghostly silhouette in the shadow of the lighthouse
Its beacon flashing madly out to sea.
Some words are drowned
By the storm.
We can just make out, “one………..for….free”
This doesn’t make any sense
But from what we can tell

The storm is dying out and going south
Standing tall in the solitude
Of the ocean, with the wind sweeping
the island peninsula. Still, staring out to sea.
We know our father can swim well.