Tag: poem

Expatriotism

I read your blog and forgot you weren’t talking to me.

I wanted to ask you something about home,
about what you saw in Oakland the night Obama won.

The hardest part about being away is missing things like this,
holidays, tragedies and sudden defining moments,
where all at once, everything changes forever,
again.
You said it was like we’d won the World Cup.
A foreign metaphor.

What I want to know is: Did you think of me?
But what I want to ask is: Tell me who you saw and what they did.
But what I want to say is: I miss you.

More Private Email Posted for the world to read

Here is something for you to think of over the weekend:

It seems to me that when you girls were little you were pretty bad, or
better yet disobedient
kids. I wrote some advise for disobedient children, and called it
Ode to Disobedience
I’m not gonna send it all to you at one time. You will receive it in
pieces.

  1. If you are riding your bike in the hall,
    And suddenly your dad appears on your way,
    Do not turn to the kitchen:
    There is a stone-like, hard fridge in there.
    You should run into your dad.
    Dad is soft. He will forgive you.
  2. Never, never, never, never
    Wash your hands, or neck, or face!
    Such a silly useless action.
    Your hands will get dirty very soon,
    And so will your neck and face.
    So, why spend your energy or time?
    It’s also useless to get a haircut:
    When you grow older,
    You’ll loose your hair anyway!

After your hands stop bleeding, write me what you think!