Storage, the age of storage
and in all my wanderings
into this ripe good age
never paid for a place to put
my things. Did Odysseus?
Father’s Day shot in search
of pod to pad my books
and holy detritus picked up
in exotic ports. Penelope says
stop being a sissy. Tell mom
you ain’t leaving, post haste.
Ha, ha. My great granddaughter,
an infectious disease major,
with a Shakespearian taste
likes to hang with me, she takes
it I’m a gay from closet time,
and gains cache with her nerdy
clique of geniuses staying on
this paternal houseboat with me.
Alas, the Pub Tub is on the blocks.
Like many another truth held dear,
Penelope is incorrect, I’m bi. Bye Bye
Birdie. How else did I earn dadhood?
My June endeavor at familial reveal
has been dented with this frantic fret,
and P’s still in the dark on her origin
story. The Cube Tube or The Shaker Shed?
Which will it be? She says don’t worry,
just imagine walking a mile with
everything you own on your back.