Hello, I am your daughter, Jim.
James, I have your hair.
My brain could match you
thought for think.
My liver match you
draught for drink.
Good morning, Junior, it is me.
Jimmy, you’re my dad.
Down in Sheol I bet
you need me.
Hinnom’s offering,
you’d feed me.
Good afternoon, Dead Daddy, you.
Papa of the Grave.
Seems for you there’s no
Nirvana.
No cool drop from
Goddess Ana.
Sleep tight, Old Man, I won’t be back.
You’re no Abba to me.
This grown up girl has
had her say.
My message is, “There’s
Hell to pay.”
James, I have your hair.
My brain could match you
thought for think.
My liver match you
draught for drink.
Good morning, Junior, it is me.
Jimmy, you’re my dad.
Down in Sheol I bet
you need me.
Hinnom’s offering,
you’d feed me.
Good afternoon, Dead Daddy, you.
Papa of the Grave.
Seems for you there’s no
Nirvana.
No cool drop from
Goddess Ana.
Sleep tight, Old Man, I won’t be back.
You’re no Abba to me.
This grown up girl has
had her say.
My message is, “There’s
Hell to pay.”
1 comment:
I like the strength in your convo with this man who was emphatically not the daddy you deserved.
Your progression works well here, like in the ways you use different forms of address/names for your father (Jim/James/Junior/Jimmy/dad/Dead Daddy/Papa of the Grave/Old Man/Abba) besides this poem seeming like it's from birth to death and beyond to Hell.
Most of all, I feel as if your reaching closure in telling strongly "like it IS!"
Well written
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