DD Poem - A Divorced Dad Finds A Balloon

Hey.

It's my birthday.  And here's this week's Divorced Dad poem.

A Divorced Dad Finds a Balloon

Midtown on a Sunday morning

And you can hear the city holding its breath.

Hungover, the night prior worn itself to the dry nub.

He’s out to donate some old clothes, from his fatter self,

Before his chin grew hard and he stopped eating as much.

That done, he’s marking his way home,

And almost trips across a lost traveler, a semi-deflated

Mylar balloon.  Silver, with a rainbow and the words:
BIRTHDAY GIRL shining across the orb.

The string at the end dips and tests the concrete,

Like a cat searching for a final, clandestine place

To lie down, to offer death a present of itself.

He pauses.  Surely someone’s sad to have abandoned

This little treat, he thinks.   But, by the barely floating

Gumption inside the hobbling stranger, he knows

This can’t be true.  It was thrown away.  Thought useless.

And, with that resolution, he wraps the cord around his

Tawny knuckles, presses the film of the balloon to his cheek,

And they walk, together.  Side to side.

In an embrace.   It has been so long, so long,

Since he’s been held, by anyone, for any reason.

Balloon kisses him slightly with each step, as he cradles

The soft, tender undercarriage of its body.

It won’t be long.  He knows. A day, two. The air will cease.

He’ll wake up and find a shell lying on the floor by his black futon.

But now, this holy now, they are together.

DD Poem - A Divorced Dad Completes A Crossword Puzzle

Hey.

Here's this week's poem.

A Divorced Dad Completes a Crossword Puzzle

6am in a tattered diner.  Orange, faded barstools

Sliced open decades ago by vandals, the plastic

Gnarled and pinching tight against the skin.

He’s on his fourth cup of coffee.  Eyes down,

Ballpoint pen scanning the last remaining mystery.

14 across:  “Dante’s Distraught Destination”

Nine letters. 

The silence of the diner is broken by a quartet

Of two gaggling couples, barging into a booth.

Still fresh from drinking, loudly holding conversation.

He shuts his eyes. Presses his pen into the empty pocket

Of the first box. Breathes and sifts more sugar into

The cup.  The couples prate:  Can you believe how many

Camera bags Chester has now?  I mean, honey?  Isn’t that just

Too much? /Not if I keep buying cameras/Remember, remember,

Remember when we had that tequila phase we went through where

We just couldn’t stop buying Peruvian hybrids/And now our cupboard’s so bare, you

Won’t let me work/Because you want to get a silly job like bartending.  I told him, Louise,

I told him, if he gets a bar job, there’s no way we’d see each other. Me teaching full time and all. 

Just two sleeping shapes in the same house/But think of all the free alcohol….

He watches, morbid with fascination.

Because he’s seen this horror film. He knows how time, the predictable sculptor,

Will carve them, suffer them. Sober them. 

And then, before his chin can quiver with the shared agreement of loss,

The answer, it appears:  A DARK WOOD.

Onto the page.  He slaps a twenty on the counter, an extremely generous tip for

Time, glances once more at the two merry couples, and

He walks.  He walks with no direct destination, but with purpose.

DD Poem - A Divorced Dad Rides the Subway

Hey.

Here's this week's Divorced Dad Poem:

A Divorced Dad Rides the Subway

Outside. It’s always a dangerous gambit.

He’s prepared. Subway pass secured and tapping his wallet.

Each step down into the station becomes choreographed falling.

On the bottom step, a rat, previously hidden,

With its lower half pulped and savagely bleeding,

In defiance of his fatal condition,

Lunges past him towards the open air.

What do you do when you encounter your familiar?

And what happens once that kindred spirit has left you,

Most likely to fight and spit and bleed itself out for a few

Hours at most, until his tiny, determined eyes grow ossified

And the struggle ends?

He’s marinating on this worry, hands shaking as he slides the pass,

Pushes his hip between the turnstile,

And steps down onto the platform.

Thought chewing pensive upon pensive thought,

When out of the random circumstance,

A spritely  mohawked  woman in a jean jacket

Exits a newly arrived subway car,

Spies him, holds up her tattooed hand and exclaims:

High Five!

He turns, and with equal passion, slaps her hand.

He’s back in the connected, loving world.

Sidles into an open seat.

And covets that small, tender mercy of being seen.

Being known.

Hand to hand.

New Poem Series - Divorced Dad Poems -

Hey.

This new poem series came out of a weird riff brought on by a new friend, Robin Rightmyer.

He showed up to rehearsal and we started improvising a character based on how he looked - which was eerily, like a divorced dad - that mix of sadness, exhaustion, and eagerness.

And, because I'm insane, and clearly don't have enough projects to do, I thought it would make a fascinating, absurd poem series. One I'll do every Sunday.  See how a divorced dad does stuff.

Here's this week's poem:

A Divorced Dad at the Movies

He’s nodding his head to a new pop rock song when

The vice of Velcro and polystyrene slides forward,

Pinches his unkempt eyebrows.  He sighs, pries off his

Bike helmet. A flood of cool air rises from his matted scalp

And he unbuttons his wrinkled short sleeve dress shirt,

Exposing a faded Superman cotton t-shirt.  His treasure.

Extra large popcorn in tow with the trench of synthetic butter gel

Pooling at the bottom of the bag. Not enough salt.  A Diet Coke,

Extra large.   Trailers lap up the screen.  He smirks, having just conceived

The perfect pun. Delivers it, and wheels to his right to enjoy a response.

But he’s a solitary figure in an empty row.  

He forgot.  Just that second.

This was once their church.

This was once their whispered ritual.

He smiles, low and to the ground. The lights dim, and as he bites down on the inside of his cheek,

(Intentionally)

He digs into a box of candy, fingers working in rote, and with perfect ease,

Aims a hat trick of malted milk balls into his quivering mouth.