my father was the real poet of
our family he would say of
such things barely on edge of
our collective conscience

that made poor sense but nearly
were we lynched at the weekly
poker school..as they woke dreamily
and he gathered his chips..

until in the end they gagged him
not literally but he decided to writing
it all down on some half baked whim
and we lost heavily..

i see him lying and giving up soon
going down the pub instead..
he expected it to pour out as it did
but his was just an excess of charm..

he was a very social person
inspired by an audience
not one for a blank screen
or some torn paper..