Father's Day: Telling

a day for fathers,
for dads and daddies,
pas and papas, so we are told;

buy up big, this is best,
show him just how much
you care, so we are told;

dads like power tools and football,
cricket, fishing, boating, camping,
red meat, whisky, beer, so we are told;

they wear nice shirts and neck ties,
smart watches, blue jumpers and
rugby jerseys, so we are told;

have wives and happy children,
friends around a barbecue or
in a pub, so we are told;

and one day each year we
can buy a card, a gift,
to show them love – or

can we tell another story,
of dads in comic book t-shirts,
fathers in kitchens and classrooms,

pas who knit, who dance,
who drink tea or champagne,
cook tofu burgers on their barbecues;

can we tell the story of dads
who have husbands, or no partner
at all, who nurse, who play

violin or clarinet, paint
portraits, write poetry, and do
not care for costly gifts at all?

can we tell of offspring
who tell daddies every day
in words and hugs and taking out

the rubbish: I love you,
I need you, I am grateful
for you – and can we

tell of the offspring feeling
far from fathers for any
sort of reason, and the

fathers feeling lost without
their children, or fathers
of their own? a day

for fathers, we are told, but
we will tell the story of our
fathers with honesty and grief,

with joy and celebration,
and tell the story every day,
without, we thank you, needing to be told.