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.