Father’s Day – a Shout OUT Poem
For the Papas (A Shout Out Poem)
This is for the pot bellied papas.
This is for those men who may not run around the block but will chase ghosts from little girls’ closets.
This is for the closet lullaby singers.
This is for the dead ringers for Bill Cosby whenever a turntable is spinning.
This is for the hat wearing brothers with vanishing vanity, but they rock it side tipped and 60’s hip.
This is for the ones who had to ask their mothers what kind of man to be.
This is for the men who taught someone else’s son what kind of man to be.
This is for the barbeque kings with singed brows and sticky fingers.
This is for the lingering scent of Drakkar Noir long after he’s left in his Sunday suit.
This is for dirty work boots, and old worn bicycles.
This is for that nickel. Thank you. They added up.
This is for the reason why he got the big piece of chicken and the 64 ounce cup.
This is for the babies’ daddies who never wanted to just be anyone’s baby daddy.
This is for the phone calls and birthday cards never received.
This is for all of her reasons.
This is for what wasn’t your fault.
This is for the caught balls and bat swings, stolen bases and 3 pointers that he keeps pictures of.
This is for the fact that the ugliest tie he owns happens to be the one loves.
This is for the way he looks at his daughter as if she is made of stardust and yesterday.
This is for everything he doesn’t say, and doesn’t have to.
This is for what a baby’s laugh does to his eyes.
This is for the lies he tells to keep you innocent as long as possible.
This is for the truth he tells when it is exactly what you need to hear, cuss words and all.
This is for the taller than life, the scratchy face, the scent of after shave, the favorite chair, the gruff voice you will still remember when he is no longer there.
This is for telling him now.
This is for telling him…now.
Asia Rainey ©2012
My dad and me in New York circa 1967
