Why I Still Love Fathers’ Day

(even though my dad is dead);
BP’s Svanberg Lays an Egg

Why I Still Love Fathers’ Day
(even though my dad is dead)

My dad died eighteen months ago.
And while my heart has healed, I know
there’s still a hole that can’t be filled
the third Sunday in June.

And yet I still love Fathers’ Day
though Dad’s not here to hear me say,
“I sure am proud to be your son.
You mean the world to me.”

The truth be told a day like this
helps call to mind the man I miss.
Though I don’t need to buy a card,
I need to honor him.

I need to pause and contemplate
the little things that made him great,
like how he’d wash and wax my car
when I made visits home.

Like writing me a little note
and tucking it inside my tote
or handing me a hundred bucks
when we’d pack up to go.

Like how he’d say, “I pray for you
each single day before it’s through.
I ask the Lord on your behalf
to guard and guide your way.”

It’s when I start to reminisce
about a dad I dearly miss
I realize that Fathers’ Day
can be most any day.

BP’s Svanberg Lays an Egg
Small people? How about all people?
Ya sure, ya betcha folks are steamed
down in the humid South.
And all because that BP Swede
inserted foot in mouth.

He said he cares for small people.
Did he mean common folk?
Perhaps! But such a careless crack
felt like a cruel joke.

If people of the Gulf are small,
that means that BP’s big.
A big gigantic toxic pain.
Just like their leaking rig.

Carl-Henric Svanberg laid an egg.
I’d say he cooked his goose
along with all our shrimp and prawns
in waters colored puce.

And while it’s good to care for those
that some prejudge as small,
my goal in life is not to judge
but care for one and all.