Hero's

He remembered thinking it would take
forever - for one generation to replace another,
and with that belief, he admitted he was wrong.

He was right, you know, to admit he was wrong.
But the child in me refuses to believe it's true
because our heroes are never wrong, especially real
life heroes, grandfathers – fathers.

Today, at the funeral, Dad plays the harmonica
and its beautiful vibration draws a tear from my eye,
cracking my rough exterior, 
an exterior I have worked hard to emulate from him
even though I now know he’s venerable.

Wiping tears on my sleeve, 
I choose to believe that his soft interior does not exist, 
believing that once again he will have all the answers,
And I’ll believe him when he says everything
is going to work out just fine.