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Rich Furman
You have much to learn
Her ex-husband lies about you in court.
Calls you names on your answering machine.
Fails to pay child support.
You pay the rent, all the bills.
She says, they want to see him,
they miss him.
He has a right to see them.
He has no spring clothes for them and
the children should not suffer.
She packs them clothes to stay for the weekend.
The same clothes you wash, put away.
The socks you sort for hours.
Children do not protect their clothing well.
On the phone, they call him daddy.
This is what they asked to call you;
they are supposed to call him dad.
Children do not have good memories.
You retreat to your room,
sit cross-armed stewing in easy chair.
The dogs follow you down.
They know you better than you know yourself.
You explore the options silently.
You should be a man, love them and tolerate this.
You should be a man, put a stop to the madness.
Neither warm daddy fuzzy or John Wayne,
you breath hard, sigh, count the bricks on the wall.
They are textured uneven and perfect.
They accommodate the pipes that mindlessly perform their task.
You have much to learn.
May 26, 2001
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