I'm feeling pretty fucking inadequate right now
So thanks for that.
"Even your brother's degree
is better than yours."
Fuck you too, dad.
What's all this
about "follow your dreams"
That you preached when I was a child?
Or was that all bullshit to you?
Because it was pretty life-altering to a 6-year-old.
I get it
You want what's best for me.
But "best" is subjective--
I'm not looking for 9-5 in an office,
2.5 kids and a white picket fence by the time I'm 30.
With the fact that my degree doesn't automatically
Lead to a career,
I'll figure something out
and I'll be fine.
Don't fucking call me inadequate.
This poem based on a joke on eggs (!) is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I was reminded of that joke about eggs by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.
Timothy: “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” …
Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…
Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door
“Dad,” says 6-year-old Tim
back from the neighbour’s
“Sandra next door and I’ve decided
to get married”
Dad laughs…What do these kids know? he thinks…
I’ll humour him, just kid along
with this precocious child of mine
“But you’re too young, Tim,”
“That’s OK,” says Tim
“Sandra doesn’t mind I’m a year
younger than she”
“Oh,” says Dad
“but marriage is such
a huge responsibility”
“Yeah,” says Tim quick and sharp
“Haven’t you seen my school reports?
Teacher always says I’m hugely responsible;
it’s the same on Sandra’s card”
Dad’s smile weakens
“Well, what will the two of you
do for money?”
“Oh, we’ve worked that one out
We get $20 a week in pocket money
between us and we reckon we’ll take
on extra jobs:
I can mow our lawn;
and she’ll wash dishes at her home
Beside we’ll save a lot of money
since we don’t at all eat out
and lodging is free -
a week here and the next at Sandra’s”
Now Dad has lost his smile
These kids have thought of everything,
he thinks. I’ve got to do better –
come up with an objection that’ll strike fear
“Have you thought, Tim,” says wise old Dad
“about babies? Married people make babies –
what you going to do about that?”
“Simple,” says Tim the kid, cool and unperturbed
“We’ve googled all that:
Every time Sandra lays an egg
I’ll crush it under foot!”
Dad sighs with relief…
Chalkboards and easels, pencils and toys
Desks lined up in aisles of little girls and boys.
A classroom, learning the A B C’s, two plus two equals four
But this day, all that learning didn’t matter anymore.
A girl with a bow, a boy with a grin
Children with freckles scattered on their skin.
A daughter, a brother, a grandkid, a friend
A lot of moms never thinking these titles would end.
Lego’s and the alphabet, Mrs. Soto taught them how to write a name
And then a mad-man stormed in, with destruction he came.
He shot down a daughter, a son, a wife
He shot down a child, a baby, a life.
Lessons in elementary consist of building Lego’s, catching butterflies in the sky
Lessons as a 6-year-old should never be what your friend looks like as they die.
Moms stuff a lunchbox with treats; Dads stuff a ball in a glove
Parents raise children; stuff a heart full of love.
They teach how to ride a bike, put a band-aid on a scratched up knee
What they should never have to do though, is bury their babies beneath a tree.
But there is evil in this world, a darkness that engulfs the light
There is an evil that reigns that humanity can’t fight.
The safest places are not safe, the most guarded unsecure
In the world we live of ignoring God and provoking massacre.
We denounce Him out of government, our country, and our schools
We ask that He move aside so that we can make the rules.
And then we blame Him when there’s death; but we don’t thank Him when there’s life
We don’t bless Him when there’s goodness; we just curse Him when there’s strife.
Moms are always good at preparing children for the day
With some things that don't matter, clinging to a love that will never go away.
Mothers, kiss your babies. Fathers, hold their hand.
Devastation comes unannounced, we will never understand.
At home in Newtown, a dog sits waiting at the door
He stares out the window, his tail wagging no more.
He sits by the window, lots of time he’ll spend
Waiting to welcome his very best friend
Jump up on her lap, smell her scent, steal her sock
But his owner won’t be coming home; no more leash, no more walk.
I think Jesus sat by his window this very same way
Waiting to welcome His children that awful Friday
He greeted them from His throne that December afternoon
And as they entered through the Pearly Gates, He healed all their wounds.
A classroom filled with giggles, children’s voices - the sweet sound
This same classroom turned from liveliness to a too-young burial ground.
But we hold on to the giggles, and we hold on to their love
And the promise of a Father taking care of them, above.