Dad's Fireflies

Dad's Fireflies

Glowing bright red from a distance,
From within stress-filled, weary hands,
Like an S.O.S. calling for assistance,
Drifting upward in smokey,curled bands.

His spirits, like his job, were on swing shift,
Where union meetings became fewer and fewer.
Hopes sailed away like a used up cigarette,
Someone had carelessly thrown into the sewer.

Creator of countless tobacco-born fireflies,
That he snuffed out along with his dream,
Of retiring from the factory he did so despise,
Finding comfort in white wands of nicotine.

This man didn't cry on someone's shoulders,
He carried his burdens all alone and with pride.
Though the weight pressed on him like boulders,
He smoked away fears he kept bottled inside.

I can still see him there sitting all alone
His cigarette a small beacon in the dark.
In the home he struggled to pay on his own,
While disappointments had put out his spark.


by:Kimarie Manhart-Freeman