Father's Day is punishment,
refined to karma's best,
the price I pay
for erstwhile play,
a serious toll,
a lifetime role,
for that I poked in jest.

Now I recount the moments,
enjoyable, at least,
gymnastic variations,
to construct the two-backed beast.

My mind was in the present,
my future in my loins,
(my actions held no loss),
the stirring of the pudding well,
produced a sort of refined hell,
a sailor never meets nor joins,
without an albatross.

Despite the many years elapsed,
regardless of their cost.
the recompense
the lack of sense
(and great expense),
and riches that I lost.

Now I recall the breakfasts,
largely spilled abed,
the runny eggs, the blackened toast
pretending "most well fed".

I had to wear pajamas,
(I normally slept nude,)
expecting Sunday visitors
to loudly pounce, intrude
upon my morning bed,
when naked might prove rude.

Those years are gone
and I thank god,
they’ll never come again,
a phone call now
is fine somehow,
as I remember when
the Payback came to me.

Sorry Dad, I understand…

06/15/2008

Posted on 06/16/2008
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers