If asked, I do sing father-daughter songs
at weddings; it’s the worst part of my job:
to put on false sincerity and smile
through lyrics so trite they make my skin crawl.
It’s not that sentiment is always bad;
but who in their right mind would sing along
and waste these precious moments on such dreck?
My daughter deserves better, all in all,
not some reduction to the cute and fuzzy.
How ’bout some simple truths, conveyed with style,
that recognize her grown-up, human status
beyond a princess at some wishful-thinking ball?
Wake up, your little girl is not a child;
if you’ve missed that, you’re doing something wrong.
a bref double
Speak to me, if you linger at the trough
and hesitant to take a drink, hang back
while others have their fill and more besides,
expecting none will challenge their self-right.
I give to you a gift – the words you lack;
Do not refuse their use or doubt their strength.
Employ them, let their fiber warm your bones,
and fill your inside ’til it’s round and tight.
As weapons, are these few small words enough
to arm a soul, defenseless, for the fray?
They may not seem a danger at first glance,
but steel beneath their slack coat gives them might;
So drink, and what you find no use, give back;
as iron rusts, so words forgotten die.
06 APR 2004