Dad Pad Poem by Ima Ryma

Back in the '60s, my Dad built
A bomb shelter in the basement
To protect us all to the hilt
From a red commie nuke event.
He showed it to us once when done,
And then he did padlock its door.
Dad kept the key, the only one,
And life went on just like before.
At times we could not find my Dad.
We knew he was somewhere at home.
Later we found out his fav pad -
The bomb shelter was where he'd roam.

That's where my Dad would disappear
To read porn mags and to drink beer.