He took great care to slice the apple
then bury it in his pipe tobacco.
The fancy can sat out of reach
on a shelf in his study and once a day
he'd take it down, fill his leather pouch
to bulging, a stash for his back pocket.
He tossed the contents, inhaling its fragrance
and lifted the can lovingly back to its place.
He took great care to fill his pipe, tamp
and light in manner of somber reflection
suck deeply the blue smoke and exhale,
leaning back in his velvet covered chair
with an expression of utter satisfaction.

He took care to razor slice the earth worm
that fed the scaly inhabitants of his aquarium
pushing the still moving parts slowly
from the glass cover into the plankton habitat
of his watery pet world. And he sat watching
his fish with affection, calming his temper.

He took less care with his family, considering
them his life's ultimate burden, in need
of reprimanding often, if not constantly.
He set definitive standards
for the world around him
and felt it his given right to keep
all human life at distance, demanding
not to be interrupted in whatever he was doing.
Deftly applied slaps to backs of heads were
expedient and merely worth his while.
According to his ledger, in rank above his family
were his co-workers who lacked intelligence,
his friends whom he mistrusted, his mistresses
who always disappointed. But there was his study
with its South American artifacts and his pet fish.
More than anything,
my father cherished his stinky pipe
and daily dose of fragrant apple-laced tobacco.