Poems consisting of memories tend to leave me unfurled, particularly memories of family members..especially ones referred to as “Dad”.

Billy Collins

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about darts or football

how I should practise for hours against a wall

and that it'll be more fun when I play with others

even though I can get down from from 501 in 7

and my record for uppity ups is 192.

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about his grandparents

how their stories involved diamonds, a country estate

and that when I get older they will no longer matter

even though maybe I'll get a title and become rich.

I'd rather play with my grandchildren in the garden.

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about the speech of seraphs

how to sing stupid little songs or play “Cocaine Blues”

and that the point with music is to feel if I can't understand

even though all that stuff I listen to by Mozart and , Beethoven

leaves me so cold I forget the words to “Livin' La Vida Loca”.

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about smoking cigarettes

how it would fill my lungs with tar and make me cough

and that giving up was hard 50 Cent or cold turkey.

Even though it took thirty years of trying before I quit

I think of a cherry flavoured roll-up each nicotineless day.

 

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about the pity of war

how horrible it was to see friends become a remembrance

and that being human is the most precious thing I have

even if I'll never get it right and be about as pure a sewer water

like a scout I'll promise to always do my best.

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about that thing called love

how it grows like the stubble on your chin and legs

and that I must feed it daily like my cat Polly.

Even if she turns into an elephant at the bottom of my bed

I should move my legs to one side or get up and stroke her.

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about doing the simple things

how just washing-up, weeding the vegetable patch

and going down to the shops are so important

even if it means not listening to the news, reading a paper

or writing a poem called “Double Abecedarian: Broken Glass”.

 

My Dad didn't teach me everything he knew

about life but left it for to do

how I can only learn about life by living it

and that whether I like it or not I should enjoy

even that bit when I watched “Countdown” on TV

rather than my father lose all the heat he would ever need.