Fathers Day

 

A melancholia has crept into this day,.

and into the dreams of the days that follow.

To bed I went, knocked out by the final blow

to this friendship, a friend I just do not know.

A friend who just cannot seem to find mellow.

I awoke to little hope, explanations ?, no way

was I to feel the presence of my little Girls

as thoughts of them , through my brain swirls.

 

For a brief moment, the phone rings, few words,

from my youngest, it was Melanie, that I heard

offer an acknowledgement of my fatherly position.

Silence comes to my ear, I wonder, I have suspicion

that maybe I just do not deserve this to be my day.

A father – they may feel and rightly so – no way !

Lift that bale, tote that barge, drive that van

and so, for Joyce, for Share, I do the best I can.

 

Supper I make and eat on my own.

From family, I am left alone

and so, along the river I walk.

A few humans – homeless – I talk

with for a minute or two, leave the Pitt,

on my way, say goodbye to Spirit

and all her cronies

as thoughts of the phonies

 

I have come to know

as onward, towards home I go

to a night of movies on television,

thoughts of my Children, - in my vision,

my dreams – and all I did not give

to my, Beautiful Girls, of myself.

A little man, a thoughtless elf

is all that I seem to be, to live.

 

Fathers Day, a day for real fathers,

not a day for a name, for men like me

and this is what today has me see

as to why it is empty of my Daughters

 

B. J. “A” 2

June 21^st 2004