Monday, August 6, 2012

a chip off the old block


He was not my father,
but he should have been;
he was the one who showed me
that words don’t have to be flowery and sweet,
that sometimes they can be rough and real,
that rules can be broken,
that life sucks and it’s ok to talk about it,
that shit happens and sometimes
there’s not a damn thing you can do about it,
that dreams die
but you keep on living,
that friends come and go,
but a good shot of whiskey
will never let you down,
that dogs may be loyal
but women are really man’s best friend,
that you can sit on your ass all day
waiting for the end to come,
or you can run headlong to meet it,
sticking up your middle finger and
screaming profanities at the top of your lungs
the whole way;
that you can write poetry and
still be a man.

Yeah he wasn’t my father,
but he taught me all the things
that a father should teach a son
so sometimes I feel like maybe he was,
and deep down inside I know
that every word I write is done
seeking his approval;
I only hope that someday
I can become as big a bastard
as he was;
a chip off the old block;
thanks dad.
.
.

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