June 11, 2011
Updated on Father's Day 2013


Father's Way: Tell me a story, Dad

what power we possess,
when the innocent demand,
at the time of cozy bed and
sandman,
"Tell me a story,"

to gentle the monsters
in the closet of their heads,
grant them a peace naive that's lost after
they learn the words that start with D,
(disappointment, death),
till then,
promises unfettered,
the best yet to come.

the story,
you, grantor,
they, grantees.

scent their dreams,
perfume their dreams,
sprinkle their safety net, blanky, rag doll:
- scent with mom's hairspray and
dad's special smell,
musk, balsam, gasoline and body odor

- scent with cherrywood falsehoods to caress,
till morning's burnished glory ascends,
thru window, tenderize the cheeks of my babes,
prep them for the truths
to be learned that day.

in tones most imploring,
glances fawning,
t'is us, we,
them do deceive,    
for adult arrogance demands
in God we Trust,
that they,
will believe our words,
will indeed,
make them rest
till new day's slow and subtle dawning

t'is the same tomfoolery that leads us
to drink repeatedly
from the trough of
best laid plans and self-deception

you believed your own narrative
would be the one he,
your dad scripted,
while standing day-dreaming,
sweating on subway platform,
admiring beaches and beauties,
from station walls lifted,
waiting for the train
that only eventually comes

that train, that station,
whose smell reminds you
of mom's hairspray and dad's special smell,
(musk, balsam and motor oil, and body odor),
a ******* reminder of dreams yet uncrystallized,
and stories your father told,
unrealized,
tho train has come,
they have not

write me a narrative, Dad,
and please advise
if tinker or tailor will be my trade,
fix my details, dear pater,
par example,
pick my institution of higher learning,
my future alma mater,
on my day of birth,
promise me gentility,
no harm no foul,  and mirth,
all the days of my life.

please advise
if I shall be a
wife abuser, communist, or
a **** vanilla
****** poet/user

word rich and pocket poor,
stealing ideas from everyone,
red blooded or blue~green,
a true believer, a born again,
an agnostic, my own truths,
to disabuse

tell me father,

will I die warmed,
surrounded by generations of my progeny
or in pauper's grave,
a life long ward of
a one true mate,
it,
in loco parentis all of my days,
making me a child, a dependent,
of casa noster paternal state?

Please Pop,
pick wise,
the life and lies,
the faces and disguises,
I will need employ to
achieve success
in the eyes of my reading beholders,
who own the liens on my soul
because of the promises I believed,
when you sang me
glowing lullabies of my future days,
how everyone would
love my stories,
my poems,
someday...