::Literate Blather::
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Poem: Shut Up

No one talks about it,
of course.

But you think about it:
All fathers -- all of them --
hate their children.

Midnight shops for diapers
in overly bright convenience stores.
Tea parties with stuffed
pigs and a marble-eyed tiger named Stripe,
during the playoff game.

You try to ignore the smug pity
from the single guys at the office
when you decline --
yet again --
beers and buffalo wings at
O'Malley's Pub.

You try to live with the stains
on your laundered shirts,
and driving to work not knowing
who won last night's baseball game.

Tired all the time.

You think about leaving.

But then,
on some random Tuesday,
you lift her out of the tub,
pink and warm
and smelling like a freshly sliced grapefruit.
She presses her face
into your chest and
her little hands wrap around your thick neck
and she says:

"I love you, daddy."

And you keep your damn mouth

Click here to read Jess Myer's poem "Quiet Contemplations in My Hometown Church on Christmas Eve"

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