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Fathers Day

A melancholia has crept into this day,.
and into the dreams of the days that follow.
To bed I went, knocked out by the final blow
to this friendship, a friend I just do not know.
A friend who just cannot seem to find mellow.
I awoke to little hope, explanations ?, no way
was I to feel the presence of my little Girls
as thoughts of them , through my brain swirls.

For a brief moment, the phone rings, few words,
from my youngest, it was Melanie, that I heard
offer an acknowledgement of my fatherly position.
Silence comes to my ear, I wonder, I have suspicion
that maybe I just do not deserve this to be my day.
A father – they may feel and rightly so – no way !
Lift that bale, tote that barge, drive that van
and so, for Joyce, for Share, I do the best I can.

Supper I make and eat on my own.
From family, I am left alone
and so, along the river I walk.
A few humans – homeless – I talk
with for a minute or two, leave the Pitt,
on my way, say goodbye to Spirit
and all her cronies
as thoughts of the phonies

I have come to know
as onward, towards home I go
to a night of movies on television,
thoughts of my Children, - in my vision,
my dreams – and all I did not give
to my, Beautiful Girls, of myself.
A little man, a thoughtless elf
is all that I seem to be, to live.

Fathers Day, a day for real fathers,
not a day for a name, for men like me
and this is what today has me see
as to why it is empty of my Daughters

B. J. “A” 2
June 21st 2004

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