Happy Father's Day

My dad is the single-most amazing man I know. I just wish I weren't such a feeble poet...

Daddy,

I’m not going to pen a poem like Miss Plath
About a daddy who wasn’t enough for her.
I’m not going to list lies about the times you beat me, Dad.
You never did.
I’ve learned it’s the mark of a poor poet to lie,
Because aside from the few spankings I earned,
The only times you touched me were to give me a hand.
 
I’m not going to scrawl screams of frustration,
How you weren’t there when I needed you most,
Because you were there.
 
No, I don’t want to be a poet with that last-resort muse,
Turning to fantasies of make-believe abuse.
I want to tell you about the times we spent talking about dust mites on our hikes,
Sitting with you for some advice,
A leg-up-on-life.
 
I’m writing to tell you that every time I said I hated you,
I really meant I love you;
That for every time you told me things I didn't want to hear,
I listened twice as hard the next time.
 
Dad, I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.
I’m taking baby steps towards a shaky independence,
Using your words as my crutch.
But I’ll use up all my monthly minutes on the phone,
Reminding you how much I love you,
Because I do.