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Turn that rubbish off

I played it loud with lots of bass, I thrust it in my father’s face, Not a jot did I care, Until my father was standing there! What the hell is going on? Your mothers’ wits have almost gone, ‘It’s far too loud’ he did scoff, ‘Can you turn that rubbish off?’ ‘But dad’ I pleaded ‘please understand, This after all’s my favourite band! It’s better than the boring stuff, You listened to in your youth!’ Fast forward now and I’m a dad, And happen to have a teenage lad. He plays his music oh so loud, Of that I’m certainly not proud. I climbed the stairs to confront, My son who could only grunt. As I stood there, face like thunder, To face my son - the professed boy wonder! ‘What the heck is going on?’ your mothers’ wits have almost gone!’ ‘It’s far too loud’ I did scoff, ‘Can you turn this rubbish off?’ Oops!! I’ve morphed into dad!

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 8/21/2019 9:03:00 PM
Exactly what happens: We become our fathers---unless we make an extraordinary effort not to. Thanks for the chuckle, RT. Best wishes, Gershon
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Ronald D Thompson
Date: 8/22/2019 2:37:00 PM
I know it's scary stuff when sometimes you have to check yourself as you think 'that just sounded like my dad.' Glad you enjoyed it Gershon. Hope all is well. Best wishes, Ron
Date: 8/21/2019 2:48:00 PM
Hahaha, the truth in your words. I hear my mum often come from my lips.
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Ronald D Thompson
Date: 8/21/2019 4:40:00 PM
Thank you so much for your comment. Glad you enjoyed the poem. Ron x