Father

My man teases me 

That I’m more like you 

Than I know (or care to admit) 

But if anything, I know too well.

No doubt, I am a Mammy’s boy, 

But I am too a father’s son; 

That family hairline, those moments wry, 

Those fumbling times when we try.

But I’d remember still, 

When you went down to the garden shed 

And made, with your own hands and love, 

A bed, shaped like a train for me.

I remember, years later, how proud I felt, 

Watching you upon a stage, 

Some Godot guy would make you wait, 

But that night, you lit up my sky.

Forgive me the ice age I once brought, 

A chrysalis decorated with blades, 

In now warmer climes, know how I 

Am so proud to be your son.