My Father Poems

              My Father Poems

My father, my father
So many poems about my father.
His father, Her father.
They are guilty.

They all did it, these fathers,
Twisted us up and watched,
perplexed,
as we unwound.

Whirling out of control,
Arms flung out in centrifugal terror,
We pulled them in for more grace
And a better score.

Why are all their poems about black shoes?

Someone’s father is different, attentive,
And she escapes
The life of show.
Look at me daddy!

And he does, he looks.
Her father, his father looks
And they grow up to be
Good, respectable citizens.

Not us, most of us
Who complain about my father.
Because Fathers never read
My father poems.