Evesdropping Poem by Allan Thorne

We sit outside
Overlooking the lake,
And the suburbs across the lake,
As the sun turns everything golden
Waiting for our ernest young waiter
To bring us our dinner.

At the table behind me is a father
And his teenage son.
This moment of intimacy
between father and son
Is what my son
With his anger
Has denied me
I think bitterly.

The son is telling his father
About a girl
He loves but who,
Even though she likes him,
Also sleeps with his friends.

The father sits quietly and drinks his scotch
He has had several more
By the time dessert arrives.

By now I am thinking
'Thank you son for your anger
And your silence.'
At least I am spared
Your recounting of
The painful nonsense
Of youth.