Father’s Day

From di day I was born yu neva loved me
Yu come call mi a jacket, attempting not to know me
yet you run come gimme yu name-so why should I complain?!
Mr. Henrick George Tucker…Jr?? Noooo man-CALL MI RICKY!
Who cares if yu nev did dey deh fi teach mi sports
or cared enough to noticed only A’s from my grade reports? WHO???
For in my time of need the only father to be ever seen
was not one of an earthly physical creature
but one of a spirtual being.
And it was through THIS FATHER, along with my MOTHER,
why the family made it to the States
while you stayed homed and worked on my
1st…2nd…maybe even 3rd stepbrother.
So what if you’re some big time homicide detective
caa mi memba when mi come check yu back ina ’95
yet you weren’t quite receptive as if thinking to yourself
"Gees am peas, mi shoulda did use di contraceptives"
I even decided to give you another chance, visit you once again to celebrate this
"so-called" Father’s Day
New Millenieum, 2001, one more time, EXCEPT
this time was a sign, and maybe I was bit blind
but there I was standing alone, on the phone:
as I listened, I heard nothing, but the sound of your excuse.
The airport was hot, STILL HOT, and there was still silence.
So your car is in the shop??
Me come all di way from fareign fi spend time wid di "big-time" cop
and im come fi tell mi sey im car dey inna di shop
I remember, I forgive, I forgot
forgot what we never had, forgot a once young, sad, lad.
Finally, with nothing left but to say-NO MORE RECONCILIATION DAYS–Mr. Spermdoner.
Thank you.

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