f a i l b e t t e r . c o m
Singing with my son,
I clapped my hands
Just as lightning struck.
It was dumb luck.
But my son, awed, thought
I’d created the electricity.
He asked, “Dad, how'd you do that?”
Before I could answer,
thunder shook the house
And set off neighborhood car alarms.
“Dad,” he said. “Can you burn
down that tree outside my window?
The one that looks like a giant owl?”
O, my little disciple, my one boy choir,
I can’t do that
because your father,
your half-assed messiah,
is afraid of fire.
No comments:
Post a Comment