Lately I've sat here afternoons
just listening to the
gluttonous newsmen argue
about fathers who kill
their wives and kids
then spirit off to Mexico.
My life's knee-deep
in fathers, embedded
in my own shaky tenor,
and though mine's as good as dead
my life still wakes up and pees.
My world's still on fire.
If I could be anywhere else
in the world, if I could be anything
but ham-handed today, I could cheer on
the vacationing comedian
who finds one this morning
hidden in a hut.
I could be vindicated.
What I mean is all this father-surrendering
gets me tired,
that it's getting old,
that it's the most difficult part of my day.
Submitted by da
Daniel Nester's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Suspicious Minds by Daniel Nester )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley