Family
Grease, Grit, & Gasoline
I was watching the news as of lately realized, we are still fighting over oil in 2025. My kind, hardworking late Dad, big Vic, was a mechanic who loved his work. He worked with oil, gasoline, and all those products. He didn't fight over the guy’s gas station down the street. They would shake hands. talk & laugh. The only argument I remember is the time when my dad worked for a real jerk before he bought his own gas station. The jerk boss refused to buy a heater, fan, or AC for my dad’s stall. My dad was not angry. He went to the bank and borrowed money to buy the gas station down the street from his jerk boss. He opened his own gas station. His former jerk boss visited my Dad ready for a fight. My Dad, big Vic, shook his hand, invited him to see his new station. The first thing my dad showed the old boss was his his AC and heater. The guy left. My Dad told him, “Have a wonderful day. Come back anytime.” That was decades ago in another reality of time and space. My Dad just wanted to work hard, take care of his family, and bring home the bacon. So, my friends, I wrote this country song dedicated to my late Dad, big Vic. He was my hero!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 8 months ago in Poets
The Clockmaker’s Gift
The air in Mira’s childhood home in Chittagong was thick with the scent of old wood and monsoon damp. At twenty-seven, she was a freelance writer, accustomed to the frenetic pace of city life in Dhaka. But now, standing in the living room where her father once read her bedtime stories, she felt unmoored. His sudden passing two weeks ago had brought her back to this house, a place she hadn’t visited in years.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Poets
