To the father and the son

Not I
the father that is
Or he
the father that was
Or they
that came before

But him
the future to come
The son
that fashions the son
And on
Like fathers before

 
(it’s Father’s Day here in the UK. I was searching relevant poems on the internet but finding only soppy greetings card ditties and tragic he’s-dead-and-I-always-hated-him dirges. It got me thinking about the future of the son once the purpose of the father has been fulfilled – rather like obsolete technology. Oh dear, that doesn’t sound so good put like that! Anyways, my own little ditty came out as above.

There always seems a touch of pat-him-on-the-back generosity from teenage boys on Father’s Day. Here, put your feet up Dad, do what you like; read the Sunday paper and have a rest because you deserve it. Gosh, how I feel tired and old and somewhat redundant. As they say, what goes around comes around but hey, don’t write me off just yet young laddie!

Of course, I cooked our meal tonight, I usually do, it’s my job. Reheated samosas from the food fair we visited yesterday, salad and couscous. And a bottle of wine. Like birthdays, I don’t really celebrate these yearly markers but deep down I smile that at least I have made it to another one. Now where’s my slippers?)

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