Dad, it's me (I.P.)
You taught me most things I know;
forever saying, “Why?” as I did...
How aeroplanes flew; what a black-hole was –
how many legs had a spider. Why did
water, running away down the sink,
always swirl in the same direction?
Way too late, of course, I realise,
so many questions I didn't ask.
Like...who they were? The couple,
the dead spit of Laurel and Hardy,
in yours and Mother’s wedding pictures.
Those medals, pinned to your lapel,
what were they for and what colour –
her bouquet of roses?
I’d ask her myself, except that’s another
story; one I won’t bore you with today –
not on your fiftieth anniversary. See,
I lit a candle, over there in the chapel.
Best be going now, but one thing more.
Me, as a child; so many trials and tantrums,
fits of pique, yet not once did you
lose your temper.
Your patience; where did it come from?
It’s just, I could sure use some. Acquired
a kid of my own now, well kind of...The sort
doesn’t grow up – only ever childlike;
although I’m certain, Mum sends you
all her love.