Deadbeat, No Account, Selfish Mess of a Soul-Starved Man
To my wife, who is infinitely stronger than I
Your Father’s Day card extols my virtues,
the boys celebrate me with sweet drawings.
Yet, I see myself…
waiting anxiously in the hospital room with you
our first-born on his way,
both of us wracked by late-afternoon hunger.
I ordered a large cheese pizza,
carried that smoldering, saucy pie to your room,
deeply inhaled the hot cardboard
riding the antiseptic elevator.
The nurse arrived…
“You can’t eat anything until your son is born.”
ETA – unknown.
Paused in that moment to decide
if I would sacrifice with you,
then hid around the corner
and ate the pizza myself,
justifying it internally,
saying there was no refrigerator…
my inauspicious debut as a dad.
Postlude: My beautiful wife has forgiven me.
Douglas S. Malan is a blessed family man, writer, and artist living in New England.