Another Poem About A Dad
i know i shouldn’t be mad
at the sick for being so.
He is the victim of His world
and earns my undying pity,
instead of my undying hate.
i rarely get sad anymore,
i don’t take it out on Him.
my cup is full of happiness,
His cup is full of spirit,
but not the kind He needs.
my Father is cursed with feelings
He needs to keep away
so i understand
when He drinks and gulps and drowns Himself
in boxed Costco booze.
i understand why, at 4 a.m.,
He has wine,
to keep His hand from shaking the wheel
on His way to work.
in spite of His illness,
my Father is the greatest teacher:
what He can’t do He taught me to do,
what He can’t be He taught me to be,
what He can’t have He taught me to get.
I got his resolve he should’ve had,
I got his strength he should’ve shown,
I got his happiness,
his chance.
and for this,
I thank him.
I owe him My life
for saving Me from what I could have been,
him.