Middle Man

Having children didn’t frighten
Me. My sphincter didn’t tighten
Contemplating childcare
And changing poopy underwear.
It never struck me as chore
To spend my Sundays doing for
Instead of having done for me;
Those TV sitcoms that we’d see
Where dad’s a put-upon old grouch
Who slouches scowling on the couch
Ingesting alcohol and sports
Whilst scratching whiskers, chest and shorts
Were Middle-Earthen fantasy
Like Mirkwood elves and orcs. To be
Intimidated by bit
Of mini-me in mommy spit
And PJs with back-flaps and feet
Seemed laughable. I didn’t greet
Impending fatherhood with fear,
Though neither was I moved to cheer
As if I’d done some feat heroic.
On the line from freaked to stoic
I was near the midpoint: Pleased
And confident, in no way seized
With doubts about my dadly fitness,
Likely ’cause I’d been a witness
From the other side of one
Who’d made the challenge look like fun
And rarely overwhelming, so
It seemed a simple thing to go
Ahead and do what Daddy did
And coach a watchful, willful kid
(Or two) to someone in the end
Whom I’d be glad to call a friend.
They call it Father’s Day. That’s fine.
The honor, though, has all been mine.

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Disturbing Dating Profiles #61519

I have eleven toes, like a minority of men,
A subset of the whole for which the median is ten.
I sometimes wear orthotics but most 12-D’s fit me fine.
I have eleven toes, but not all of them are mine.

Deadants

Ants are friendly
Ants are fun
Ants don’t like
The blazing sun
Or temps that freeze
Their many legs
Or rain that soaks
Their tiny eggs
When neighbors play
Their tunes too loud
Expect a formicidal crowd
When favorite shows
Go on hiatus
Marching ants
Will soon sedate us
Lonely? Bored?
Have soiled pants?
Distraction!
(In the form of ants)
Their motives are
Perhaps obscure
Except they’re done
With where they were
And choose instead
To come indoors
And leave their corpses
On our floors

Whoa! That took
A darkling turn.
I blame those ants.
They never learn.

Bakey-Wakey

The temp is up and so am I.
I don’t sleep well in heat is why.
My tiny AC box refuses
To produce the BTUses
Needed to ensure good Zzz’s,
But on the plus side, I won’t freeze
While sleeping and then wake up dead.
And, too, the fancy waterbed
That Young Me coveted is mine!
Okay, the wet’s from sweat. That’s fine.
Those twenty-something dreams will keep
For cooler nights when I can sleep.
Meantime, they’re just as well forgot
‘Cause I’m not napping. Too darned hot.