Why, Dad?

It happens a lot.
 I look up to see
 a soldier
 with the butt of his rifle
 move Dad forward.

 “Why, Dad?”

 “They don’t know where
 we belong.” He says.

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The Artist

At Eleven years old
opened Dads teenage sketchbooks

Cows sat down in pencil
His Dads backyard full of tools
preliminary pencil sketches

Triumph motorcycles,

part oil coloured portraits

his Dad, his sister hangs

out washing in 1950s skirt.

sexually awakened by
his female nudes,
drapery hides modesty

extremely detailed Clwydian hills, mountains, landscapes,
rotting stump colours ablaze yellows, ochres, greens
I wanted to draw, sketch,
inspired.