Poetry Month Day 6 - Dinner With My Dad, Sans Food
I spent this evening
Talking with my father
Which is something I haven't done in some time
And probably don't do enough.
It was a real conversation
Not one of those,
"How's mom? How's the dog?
Gotta run. Love you, bye."
Exercises in telephone bullshit.
It was full. Hearty.
An emotional banquet
Satisfying in the way
That only rare things are.
Perhaps it's best, then
That we chat often enough
But don't truly speak to each other so regularly
That these pow-wows, these bull sessions
May retain their proper weight.
But that feels like a cop out.
As empty as the candyfloss discussions
That fill the time between nights like this
When we are well and truly father and son
Again.
For a little while.
Talking with my father
Which is something I haven't done in some time
And probably don't do enough.
It was a real conversation
Not one of those,
"How's mom? How's the dog?
Gotta run. Love you, bye."
Exercises in telephone bullshit.
It was full. Hearty.
An emotional banquet
Satisfying in the way
That only rare things are.
Perhaps it's best, then
That we chat often enough
But don't truly speak to each other so regularly
That these pow-wows, these bull sessions
May retain their proper weight.
But that feels like a cop out.
As empty as the candyfloss discussions
That fill the time between nights like this
When we are well and truly father and son
Again.
For a little while.