I don't ride a Harley. Do you?
I have no need for ingots or ketchups. Have you?
I'm atheist. Are you a believer?
I'm in the body. Are you marginalized?
I respect LGBTQ. Are you in and out of your body?
I have a NEXUS. Do you have a country?
Good thing the air and sunshine have no borders.
It's not about me.
It's about us.

I won't drink your bourbon.

         Well, I won't buy your beer.

I won't ride your Harleys.

         Oh Yeah. Well, our cars don't need your wheels.

Says who?

          Says you.

Did not!

          Did too!

No way, Jose.

          I'm telling.

You're a scaredy-cat.

          I know you are but what am I?

You're a *******.

          I'm rubber and you're glue.

If you love it so much, why don't you marry it.

          It takes one to know one.

Will not!

Will too!!

La la la la la la la. I'm not listening.

The hood won't be the same,
We're out standing in the rain,
To encourage sprouts as we once did our children;
For down the road you see it's as legal,
As a Timmy's and a cream-cheese bagel,
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

On this side of our border,
Starting this October,
We'll bake it, vape it, roll and bowl to take it;
Down the road you see it's now legal,
The price of home grown's dropped to zero,
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

Yes we're all on board to greet it,
Some inhale and some will eat it;
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

I'm awake and it astounds me,
My four plants that surround me;
We've realized what we've long been dreaming;
For there's a store where we can cop some,
Come the fall fresh buds will blossom,
We're good to grow our free green grass at home.

Yes we're all on board to greet it,
Some inhale, and some will eat it,
We're good to grow our free green grass at home.

We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?

And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father that ******* in Ottawa;
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.

You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.

How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.

We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)

I would've given birth
To you,
Endured whatever
Mothers do.
Instead, I did
What Dads do.

I rocked you
Til my future shook;
Watched you til
I couldn't look.
As you changed,
I changed too,
To do the things
That Dads do.

You were bathed,
Dressed and fed;
I loved you so much
I was saved.

If there's credit,
Well, I get it,
For teaching you to read.
I took the blame
When you got bored
With school's ABC's.

I followed you
In all your roles,
Your teams,
Your solos,
Your trips,
Your shows.
First to clap,
Last to sit;
I taped it all,
From start -
To finish.

I taught you
How to tie a lace,
Ride a bike,
Golf and skate.
When time arrived
For you to drive,
You learned
On standard,
Never stranded,
You came home alive.

Your highs
I took in stride,
By example taught
Humility's pride.
Your lows,
I couldn't internalize,
I dropped my guard
With my eyes.

When Dad's do well
It's a double edge,
The future wedge.
The world
Revealed
Desired you too.
I don't dismiss
What mothers do,
But when Dads do well,
Both lose you.

I'm at home with my thoughts;
It's not quite quiet if one thinks a lot.
At the oddest time they rage, then storm;
Rack and thunder or light my night;
A wind whirls into a gale,
And thoughts teem on the page.
Some take root,
Produce sweet fruit,
Others wither on the line.
So many thoughts I'm at home with,
I'll pick one to grow a poem with.

Her party conflicted me.
I worry if her expectations were met
After the last gift's been unwrapped,
And she's wearing her Princess elbow-length gloves,
Her Audrey Hepburn sunglasses and chic ball cap.
I took a picture of her sitting on her new bike,
And on the table you can see the remains of birthday cake,
Cards, some ribbon and paper, crumbled past the folding creases.
It's over now, and there she sits, feet on pedals,
A serious look on such an innocent face.
You might think I think she's greedy or demanding,
But I don't. She's not, she's a child,
Expecting great things on a special day,
Her day, which comes everyday,
Until she won't remember this day,
The way I will.