David and Goliath
Helpless, I watched David dance
as he selected his path to the end of the branch.
Determined not to miss his chance,
he tracked Goliath below, and took up a warrior's stance.
Then into the air; a stone in flight,
David plummeted down to take Goliath the fight.
Goliath walked on, unaware.
Unable to speak, I could only stare
as David, claws bare,
lunged, ducked and grabbed beneath the nape of Dad's hair
and carefully traced six new thin lines where
His battle-worn armour was weak and thin,
under his shirt collar cotton, deep in his skin.
Till now he had had no vulnerability,
no one had been able to test his ability.
Never had my Father shown hurt visibly,
but David had made him with brutal hostility.
And with a roar, staggering, the giant I know
was lessened and pained - the giant brought low.
So small a creature had crippled the man
who had stood upright since before time began.
But now without my mother's tender hand
tracing a cloth across Goliath's new brand,
drawing out all of the blood and the pain,
He might be nothing
He would be slain.
A poem about the time my Dad was attacked by a squirrel.