i like this one

my father was a storied man,

a life i'll never hear.

they got him with the brain worm,

sent from aliens, from mexico, from near.

                  

not a tumor, per sae.

maybe just a shitload of cocaine

and tylenol, for the acid rain.

he knew how to run away.

       

a secret technique, formed years ago.

by a father's father, and one before.

one foot in front of the other, a little faster

this trick will never bore.

                    

ill watch from this damned bench.

brown bag in hand, a leather journal on my thigh.

ill write their stories, you hear that, not his, not mine.

because we've all been here before.

                  

lighting the same red marlboro cigarette.

the same kind my grandfather would get.

a toast to their good times. 

as for me, im never f*****g having kids.

                                    

ive made plenty, of their mistakes before

one line in, and ill always, be just the first out the door.

but i see that i know, and ill idolize.

like its not all, their same desire in mind.

                                

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I will not have kids....so sad....I don't want to make the same mistakes they did so I will take the safe way out...avoidance.
This is a very sad poem....not wanting to be like our father or his father or his father etc. can really stymie our existence and make us stand still in life...and let it pass us by from the bench at which we sit.
j.