Poetry Project, V. 20, Day 7

Wow - hard to believe that this is already one week into this little project. Now, for the few who told me they're paying attention, I have to say that I've had more input from my family (and quite the input it has been, by the way) than from my friends. For exaple, this came from my oldest sister:

OK, Here's my poem:
There once was a brother named Bill
Whose poetry needs I could fill
By taking some time
To write a short rhyme
...In hopes it would give him a thrill!

It does, Sis. It does, indeed.

The only reason I bring it up is because my friends were the ones who said they were excited and intrigued by this year's attempt to explore some language. Hmmmm.... So, the first week has been rather random, and pretty haphazard. I kinda wanted to do that just to get me (and hopefully others) in the mood to write, and more importantly, into the rhythm of writing. Now, it's time to get with the rest of the program. Starting tomorrow, with the second week, each week will have a theme. For anyone playing along, please do not feel YOU are required to write on the same theme. You can if you like, but I'm only writing along these themes for my own good. But that starts tomorrow.

Today? Today's my father's birthday - and so today goes out to him. There was an old anti-drug ad where a father finds his son's stash of pot, and confronts the boy, asking, "Who taught you how to do this stuff?" The son responded "From you, alright?! I learned it from watching you!" The tag was, "Parents who do drugs have children who do drugs." NOW, Dad didn't teach me THAT, of course. But he did teach me a lot of other things - Thanks, Dad.


I learned from you.

I watched him,
moving as he did, imitating,
my small frame unable to keep up, not strong enough.
He picked me up and swung me around,
universal delight.

He fixed my fishing pole once.
Taught me to set up a tent in the backyard behind the barn.
He spoke little - I think he didn't know I was listening anyway.
But He knew things, many things,
And I wanted to know them, too.
So I watched.

Years later, I pick up my nephews and swing them around,
I fix their fishing poles, and set up tents,
They wrestle me - two and three at a time,
I do not talk to them in depth, but they hang on my words.
I seem to know so much to them,
and I feel like I'm making it all up as I go.
They're watching me.

So, Dad, what do I do now?


Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid