July 16

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  • Death

    July 16

    He's a father I'll never know.
    I'll never fight with him
    during his hour-long lectures
    on how to be a lady.
    I'll never be embarrassed
    by the dad-o-lantern
    checking from the window
    to make sure I was home
    inside my "reasonable" curfew.
    And he won't go bald
    from all the hair
    I made him loose.
    In my fantasies
    I would share
    my passion for music
    with him.
    I would complain
    about my gutter balls
    as he would stack up
    his bowling trophies.
    I'd greet him at the door
    with a "Hi, Daddy!"
    no matter how old I got.
    He would never complain.

    But, he never comes:
    and his memory is wiped away
    by the years that bury
    his face.

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    dangedmanjr commented on July 16

    03-11-2009

    painful...deep sadness...well written, thank you

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    MarieElizabeth’s Poems (4)

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