For The Fathers…

This hunky poem is for the Dads
The daddyos
The “yes, Sir”‘s
The Papa Bears
The “Let me show you how it’s done”‘s
The “Pull my finger”‘s
The “Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick”‘s
The sharp crack of a tall can of Keystone Ice
and the low groan, easing into a comfortable chair.

To the nine to fivers,
the “waste no time”rs
the national pun champions
pulling and pushing
and pushing and pulling
their families through
the deep fields of life
plowing and tilling earth
down to the clay,
To the sweat in the eyes
and the spattered glasses
that so easily goes unnoticed,

this is for the drunken,
red-eyed rambling nights,
sitting at the kitchen table,
talking politics,
finding balance in growing pains.

This is for the twelve separate
lessons about changing a tire,
about checking the oil on the car,
about not overcorrecting,
this is for the days spent bouncing
through deep snow drifts,
laughter echoing across
the empty barley fields

this is for skipped stones,
caught fish,
downed stinging nettle,
pitched tents,
boiled crawdads,
for all of the “don’t tell mom”‘s
and for all of the “you’ll have to tell mom”‘s

As time allows the mind to reflect more upon itself,
understanding its patterns and loops,
So to am I able to see your patterns and loops,
the quiet thoughts that you have,
your silent moments of contemplation,
They are mine,
I know them because I am them.

So, let this be for you,
let this one thing be for you,
from something partly of your creation,
keep it for yourself.