Poetry by
Gregory McIntyre

Last night I chanced
Upon the dance
Of my tiny shining soul.
She stood in front of the mirror
While she thought nobody saw.

I didn’t watch her determined jaw,
I certainly didn’t see
Her bottom shake, her elbows jut,
Nor the nervous steps of her feet.

I entered the room, diverting my gaze,
To collect my phone.
Sometimes a father’s pride is not sought
But it’s always there, you know.