by Niamh O’Connell

He is a cigarette finished in three pulls 

He is the silent appreciation of a joke

He is the tugged hairs of his beard 

And he is a furrowed brow

And yet he is a tear wiped away after the Soaps

He is the extra squeeze before releasing a hug

He is the text to ask if all is well

He is the unexpected “I’m proud”