Who wants to have one anyway.
They make life difficult,
when it should be smooth.
Who needs the sort of encumbrance;
drunk at the weekend,
miserable during the weeks.
Who needs that.
And when the chips are down;
its he who sits around
the poker table metaphor.
And deals:
with his own doings;
as certain as a street,
that’s built to be straight.
He never intended
The slights you imagine.
He was simply, he;
An uncomplicated thing;
a useless,
reproductive tool.
A father.
June 9th, 2014 at 2:27 pm
This is terribly sad. I’m so sorry…
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