Oh, loser dad,
squealing the tires of your
red convertible in
front of all the grads.
I’m sorry
you peaked in high school.
The revving of your engine
declares you
as a fool.
Faces turn, loser dad,
with pity on your son,
the grad.
May he go on to be
much better
than the man
he sees.
.
.
.
Ok, ok. I know this one is harsh. But seriously. 2-300 people in the courtyard, little kids moving through the parking lot, and this idiot is smoking his tires as he parks his car. Really? Common sense, man!
For Friesens and Bhatias who are grieving the loss of their fathers this week.
.
I followed behind him on the beach.
He turned with a smile and opened his arms
for me to run into
and he swung me schrieking
high into the air,
catching my laughter on the way down.
I stood on his shoulders as he
launched me into the surf
squealing and splashing.
Then screaming and thrashing
as I gulped in salt water
and my feet desperately
saught security
until his hands reached down
and pulled me into the haven
of his embrace.
Shawn L. Bird 