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.