“You need to talk more quietly,” misspoke
her dad with elder mouth. He cupped her chin
for emphasis and curled a gentle stroke,
his index finger down her cheek. Within
she understood at once, at last, he meant
no hurt; he didn’t want to shut her down.
He tried to guide – paternally intent
to have her modulate each verb and noun.

He’s hard of hearing but too easy hears
her every argument, her any case.
He’s losing tones but finds her wrath too loud.
It makes no sense until exhaustion clears
her head and lets her feel upon her face
his loving touch, his gaze upon her bowed.