by Ryder Kaplan
“Hey, son, go play with the other kids!” Dad shoutin’ from the hallway.
“No, I’m busy!” conversational relay.
Race of his emotions; fingers tap tap tap at the keyboard.
“No wonder they call you a fat nerd!”
Well, Dad, you don’t see it, teachers can’t believe it -
Your son’s a lyrical miracle, a true genius.
Tappin’ the keys when the other kids were tappin’ their feet.
Tryin’ to compete for a position as a top athlete.
None have won some still believe
They can run and run to a career victory.
But not your son, no, he has bigger dreams.
Your son wants to be a poet -
A master of the written word, mended by metaphors
Assisted by alliteration.
His mind’s racing, pacing back and forth, in his room contemplating.
Happiness in writing his feelings, but they’re all locks; the keys keep changing.
He sits in his room alone, with his own thoughts,
There’s treasures in his mind, dad’s bringing him down; he can’t open up his own vault.
Flash forward -- it’s senior year.
Dad in the aisle; son’s surrounded by his peers
Watching in awe at his awesome academic achievements,
But Dad’s still not proud .
A valedictorian of the written word
“Gee, Dad, this fat nerd really got heard!”
With praise from the whole school,
And he didn’t have to drown in the pool of liquor.
It was evil snickers
That would come with athletic dreams.
He never let his dad’s lack of approval come between
His poetic dreams and as he stands on the pedestal; it’s quite a scene.
The boy’s complete dream, not deemed worthy
Just because his father wanted an athlete on the football team,
But it’s all OK, because at this moment right now, on this pedestal
Diploma being forked over by the principal or some older
Man that isn’t Dad but he’s glad that he had
This opportune opportunity to tune out of the cartoons and Dad’s rules
And it ended well, for his son, and Dad thinks to himself
“Hey, maybe he’s done with my vision, and he may be fat
But he pursued his dreams, did great, and I love him for that.”