Scott Owens: On The Days I Am Not My Father

 I don't yell. I don't hold inside

the day's supply of frustrations.

My hands stay open all day.

I don't wake tired and sore,

dazed from senseless, panicking

dreams. On the days I am not

my father I hold my son

when he cries, let him touch my face

without flinching, lie down with him

until he falls asleep, realize

that just because he has a sharp tongue,

just because he's sometimes mean,

just because he's smarter than me

doesn't mean he'll become my father.

On the days I am not my father

holding you is enough until

holding you is no longer enough

for either of us. I listen well.

I let things go unfinished,

in an order I didn't plan.

My mouth is relaxed. My teeth

don't hurt. My face stays

a healthy shade of pink all day.

On the days I am not my father

I don't fill the silence with my own

irrational rants. I don't resent

the voices of others. I don't make fun

of you to make myself feel better.

On the days I am not my father

I don't care who wins

or loses. The news can't ruin

my day. I water plants.

I cook. I laugh at myself.

I can imagine living without

my beard, with my hair cut,

without the fear of looking

too much like my father. On the days

I am not my father I romp

and play, I don't compare myself

with everyone else, the night

is always long enough, I like

how much I am like my father.