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 Finding The Flood - Poems by Jeremy Joel

Me and the Man in Missouri



A good father yearns to be a good father
Always a giver, never a borrower
Reliable and enduring
Willing to do anything
Double-checking the closet when monsters are stirring
Teaching his children how to lead a humble life
Provoking their potential
Challenging their minds
Talking about the basketball dreams a little boy left behind
He dares them to eat anchovies, oysters and eel too
Reciting "Hop on Pop" to a fourth grade classroom
Doing the astronaut tuck-in at bedtime
Playing Monopoly on his day off for five straight hours
Explaining why airplanes crashed into the towers
Telling corny jokes only making Mommy laugh
Working two jobs he can't hardly stand
Doing what men do when they need to be a man
He's strange and dorky, lame and boring
Damning the Chicago Cubs when not blaming society
A motivational speaker who enjoys afternoon snoring
He emphasizes responsibility and the value of a dollar
Post-It Note letters don't make a good father


A bad father is strictly mythology
Everything storybooks want him to be
An impersonating pauper who acts like Prince Charming
Wearing black leather jackets, drag-racing Harleys
The Lone Ranger lassos happy childhood memories
Children grow older; Dad's job gets harder
Goofy innocence turns into moody pubescence
Time to be less a buddy and more a father
Quit the rebel without a cause routine
Cut the heavy metal hair
Papa was a rolling stone but not as cool as James Dean
Quit the Jack Daniels and get cleaned up somewhere
If divorce was the end then give Mommy her share
He makes monetary promises never intended to keep
Manipulative excuses long distance from Missouri


There's time for his kids only once in a while
He's never at dance class to see those proud smiles
He can't keep a job or afford a respectable hotel
A toddler's heaven is a teenager's hell
Wrecking three different families driving three different women
Child support chances about one in a million
$13,000 doesn't equal a Happy Meal and a movie
Wave a magic wand and out pops a puppy


This is not just my daughters' biological father
Bridges have been burning one after another
Pieces of trash decompose in their forties
Scraping the barrel to find their priorities


In sadness or simplicity his bloodline will realize
Father made a choice when he left them behind
Much to his chagrin and in not too much time  
They'll unleash the hounds of their unspoken spines


He can fidget knowing I'll be walking them down the aisle
I'll be taking care of their wants and needs
The good father to his castaways, that's me
We're building bridges in Florida
He's an arsonist in Missouri







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