A YouTube Posting Asked the Question (on Father’s Day): “What if you don’t have a father?”. So.. I asked, what if you’re a father whose kids ignore you? (you can see the YouTube video at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dNQW2QUVlI)
What about Kidless Father’s Day?

Everyone talks about Father-less Day.
Maybe your dad’s died
or gone away.
Maybe he’s a deadbeat
out on some street.

Maybe he drank so much
you had no food to eat.
Or maybe, through some tragedy, sad,
you just ended up
with no Dad.

But what of the Dads
who toiled and sweated,
but their kids got mad,
so the Dad’s get forgetted?

(You can tell I read
a lot of Dr. Seuss!
It’s stuck in my head!
I can’t shake it loose!)

The dads who were
always there for events
whether far, or near,
they always drove, and went?

What of the dads who
worked every day?
And with their own hard labor
eased your way?

Put a roof over your head,
shoes on your feet,
made sure you were fed,
with good stuff to eat.

Basically those super dads who,
(as best they could)
tried really hard to
make your life good?

Then, somewhere in their life’s a mistake.
They didn’t beat you, your sibs or mom,
no eye blackened, no bones break.
BUT they did something dumb.

And you leave.
Though they’re a mile away,
they grieve,
’cause you’ve got nothing to say.

Nothing to say
to the guy who, for years,
coached you, read to you,
loved away your tears.

Who knows he made
a huge mistake.
One that caused
his kids’ hearts to break.

But that was years ago,
and though the achings’ not through,
and the healing is slow,
despite all he can do,

You’ll not forgive him,
not give him a smile,
even on “his” day,
though it’s been quite a while.

Sure, he should be punished!
And when you are through,
you can ask yourself,
“what good did it do?”

Yes, it made him cry,
made him sad.
Because he knew why.
But did it make you glad?

Those of you who
are punishing your dad,
you need to know,
yeah, you’ve made your dad sad.

You need to hear
though Father(less) Day is bad luck
a kidless Father’s Day
REALLY SUCKS!

But now that you’ve slammed your Pop,
When are you finally going to stop?

A woman looked,
thought:
“Maybe he’ll change.”
But
change into what?

Who knows.
Poetry is stupid. Non-poetic.
Romance is juvenile. Non-romantic.
Sex is annoying. Non-sexual.
Why are you so out there? Non-goofy.
Be serious. Non-funny.
Remember your place. More “proper”
Your creativity goes too many different directions. More responsible.
Don’t be the center of attention. Less loud and obnoxious.

Then came some who said:
“We really like those things about you!”
And as he thought about it, he knew:
He did, too!

He came,
trembling,
something he’d never done before.

She called his name,
saw him,
nervously entering the door.

He again
hid her gift,
nervously hugged her on the dance floor.

Was he insane?
He’d waited,
after plucking a dozen, wishing there were more.

Tender pink,
blushed white,
yellow, with sweet scent, not manufactured stink.

He’d think
and dream
of giving them as he sang, not screamed.

But then she arrived:
Flower woman
pail with stinky roses more dead than alive,

And the young jive
talker from the bar
bought one with a five.

and tenderly stroked
across her shoulder,
and he felt the old choke

as she spoke
flirting words
and caressed and touched and poked.

They danced,
she and the new man,
and the suitor lost courage, and his chance.

When his song
came, he sang,
sans roses; all romance gone.

And when the new
couple momentarily left,
he did what he had to do.

She never knew
the plans he’d made,
nor how they’d fallen through.

It wasn’t far
to take the dozen
sweet-scented caresses back to his car.

The night became unplanned.
He never told her.
She’d never understand.

She rode away
with the new he.
What could the old one say?

He sat crying
in his car
tormented by the sweet scent of roses dying.

I spend the morning cooing,
trying my hand at wooing!
Awaiting a response;
a smile, a nod, just once

in my direction
a glance;
a mere suggestion
that there’s still a chance

that we’ll sometime soon meet;
perhaps take a Safe seat!
Or a long, languid stroll
down an old, grapefull row.

A chance romance can be found
in a tilled garden, on embattled ground!

Concerts?
Four-star desserts?
I’m much more simple.
to start.
I speak
from the heart,
hold hands
in the dark
of the drive-in movie.

I dance with her slowly;
tell her she’s groovy.
Look at her only.

And then,
if she had fun,
I ask her again
on another one,

Where we might get
Cho-o-late
and sit
and talk.

Later on
would come
the passion
and expensive fun,
after all the deep
groundwork is done!

How long does it take?
How long should one wait?
I have no clue!
Neither do you.

But when it’s due,
it will be known by we two.

Silence you send me.
Not the quiet I yearn for:
Pacific Coast more.