John Grey

A POET-FATHER CONVERSATION

I’ve always been much too delicate,

reliant on words and not muscle.

I really think I’d fall apart

if my self-expression didn’t hold me together

like some rusty but still tough wire.

It’s not that I’m any more truthful

than a guy who flashes his pecs.

But I get what I can down on paper.

And, if that makes me a ghost in your eyes,

then I’ll continue to haunt in the background.

At least, I won’t have to duck your angry roundhouse.

Maybe someday, when you start to lose

more fights than you win,

you might pick yourself out of the gutter,

cast your bloodshot eyes over

what I’ve written about you.

Until then, you’ll crack skulls

and I’ll create.

With any luck, you won’t crack mine.

With any skill, you’ll be my creation.