Treasure Island

Millie Green


the flutter


Our father was a dreamer
His mind chased numbers
Integers and their patterns were his
constant puzzlement
falling pairs
annoyed him
when they proved elusive
He disputed Chaos vehemently
and correctly
he was like all parents
a chance that begets chances
on and on
father/child
father/child
small female hands in
arduous male spans that secure
girls in giddy flight-' oh Dad'
Fathers raise voices
not ours
his disgruntled silence was
our disgrace
OUr father was a gambler
but his winnngs were rapidly spent
as the paper fluttered of shame
I laughed with my old man
Pissed in seedy pubs - who cares?
yet that yoke of expectation
and his lax will
Created denials
our love was palliative
a nourishing soup
for the inadequacies of nurture.
Love is forgiving
Growth, acknowledgement.
i loved my flawed Dad
another man forgiven
without games

Submitted: Tuesday, November 03, 2009

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