Gene Moutoux's Poetry
The Devious Father
Dadís an insidious misanthrope, Mom,
Though you wouldnít know of his sin.
Himself he ingratiates slyly with you
And with all of his neighbors and kin.
His nefariousness is apparent to me
For I tripped on it two days ago,
As I entered Dad's workshop in need of a drill
And ended up stubbing my toe.
There in the workshop lay half of my stuff
All scattered in heaps on the floor.
He had stolen my books, my TV, and my lamp,
My shortwave receiver and more.
Iíve heard itís the job of a father to nurture,
Incrementally building his son.
But this isnít nurture and certainly not
How filial affection is won.
My son, you malign your benevolent father,
Who has your best interests at heart.
To rip off his son is so far from his mind
That to think it is not very smart.
Your father is buying, and hoped to keep secret,
A brand new computer for you.
To make this gift better heís busy constructing
Some shelves and some cabinets, too.
So thatís why your father took off with your things,
Your books and TV set, to wit;
He wanted to see, before gluing the panels,
If all of your objects would fit.
This storyís moral, if moral need be,
My darling incredulous lad,
Is to give those who love you a judgmental break,
especially your mom and your dad.
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