Lately I've sat here afternoons <br />just listening to the <br />gluttonous newsmen argue <br /> <br />about fathers who kill <br />their wives and kids <br />then spirit off to Mexico. <br /> <br />My life's knee-deep <br />in fathers, embedded <br />in my own shaky tenor, <br /> <br />and though mine's as good as dead <br />my life still wakes up and pees. <br />My world's still on fire. <br /> <br />If I could be anywhere else <br />in the world, if I could be anything <br />but ham-handed today, I could cheer on <br /> <br />the vacationing comedian <br />who finds one this morning <br />hidden in a hut. <br /> <br />I could be vindicated. <br />What I mean is all this father-surrendering <br />gets me tired, <br /> <br />that it's getting old, <br />that it's the most difficult part of my day. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by da<br /><br />Daniel Nester<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/suspicious-minds/
