He worked in fugs of cigarette smoke when alone.
He was in a different place in that smoke.
He wore a singlet under his shirts.
He woke to find the alarm clock in his hand.
He laughed heartily at his own jokes.
He was hospitalised saving a child from oncoming cars.
He was the mirror on my dresser.
He was the red arrow on a compass rose.
He was the pier waiting for the boat to dock.
He was the reason you suffered to excel.
He was the tallest tree in the world.
He was the bucket on the edge of a well.
He was an open border to refugees.
He was the night-light at bedtime.
He read Romance of the Three Kingdoms back to back five times.
He blew small bubbles when he slept.
He was my first love and will be my last.
He was my Dad.