A lot of writers have
the one,
this one reader,
the one they are writing for.
Some write for their wives,
passing them crumpled pages,
others for their closest friends,
reading their work aloud.
For me it has always been
my father, my dad.
He\'s read every single story,
and marked each one
with a school-teacher precision.
He\'s always on hand
for writing support and advice,
over a glass of whiskey,
and to insist that this one
particular story
didn\'t quite make sense.
Don\'t ask me, I reply,
I don\'t know what it means.
I just wrote the thing.
If he says my story is good,
that is high-praise indeed,
a glowing five-star review,
and that it has
a beginning, a middle
and end.
My one man reading panel,
what would he say if he
ever read this poem?
He would look at me
over his reading glasses,
a wry smile on his face,
and insist that
one man
should have a hyphen.