When Dad was embarrassed, he whistled,
a tootling flute of a whoot; notes rising,
always the gent, he never bristled,
but when Dad was embarrassed, he whistled.
Always the same, breath gently pushed
through pursed lips, eyes on the horizon,
Dad, red, embarrassed, he whistled,
a tootling flute of a whoot; notes rising.
Polly Stretton © 2020
napowrimo #7
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07/04/2020 at 10:26
I can hear him now.
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07/04/2020 at 10:31
Every time I think of dancing, I hear his embarrassed whistling, but he still did it, for me and my sister 🙂
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