I Am the Addict’s Father

There is no feeling so lonely

As being the only one left

Who believes

.

But I have to believe

That you can come back

That there still is a “you”

To come back

.

Actions become indolence

Words become lies

Lies become the story

And as to the rest

God only knows what will come

.

I am tired beyond words

And sick

At heart

.

There is no feeling so lonely

As being the only one left

Who believes

My Name Is Oscar Smuff

Ninety nears I’ve had bad press
My name is Oscar Smuff;
You have been told that I’m a mess
And I have had enough

I am a great detective
I was topmost in my class;
My bow ties are quite stylish
As is my bushy mustache

Who is this W. Dixon guy
Who has it in for me?
I make an honest living
Here in mild obscurity

But he paints me to be an oaf –
A clod – some sort of dunce –
I’ve never even seen the guy
In Bayport. Even once.

It’s bullying, that’s what it is
And sheer mendacity;
My name is Oscar Smuff,
So please
Quit making fun
Of me

The Great Mistake

My mind is filled with sorrow

The truth: that while I lead my life,
My mind is filled with sorrow;
Surrounded by the things I’ve earned,
But laid bare to tomorrow

A victim of the great mistake
Which binds me like a fetter:
That when a thing seems truly good
Then more is surely better

And so, awash in plush excess
I must now journey lightly –
And live life simply, daily, so
I might find
Some peace
Nightly

From The World

… he stood out from the rest…

Among a world of narcissists
He stood out from the rest;
The model of unint’rested
And heedless selfishness

But all who came to know him longed
In time, to get away;
As he turned inward evermore
And sank below the fray

The selfless lead so many lives
The selfish lead but one;
As daily their few pleasures shrink
Until they’re left with none

The energy we give, somehow,
Is what we come to get:
But we give nothing if we think
Each other is a threat

The scarcity of empathy
Pervades this age and space:
Although we see clown substitutes
Dressed up to take its place

And there he was, the model of
Impassiveness towards others;
No women are his sisters and
No men are seen as brothers

He’s in the world, he’s from the world
And free from sympathy:
He’s everything that’s going wrong
And our
Facsimile

Youngest

My dancing family.

I was trying to dance here too
But at but three months old
I wasn’t very good at it
Or so, at least, I’m told

I was always the youngest
Of the litter, just a pup;
In spite of decades ever since
Of trying to catch up

My sister and brother would retell me –
Every chance they could:
That my youthfulness was annoying to them
And I was little good

Like many youngest children, though
I learned after a while
That what I lacked in size and age
I could make up
In guile