MAROONED.

My father has
Never been celebrated.
He will never be
Remembered for the
Old TV that he bought
Above his means
After beating up
His burly, deviant customer.

It is not that
My father has never
Answered me anytime I
Scream 'papa' after school,
When my detractors clamour
For my naive neck.
There is just no need
For the horse to collapse
If the race has been lost.

If you look closely,
He has never breastfed
I and my errant siblings.
Father does not know
How the stove works,
And he is the enemy
Of the old broom
Behind the door
To the soot-caked kitchen.

My father is useless
When mother is pregnant.
And he is quick to stamp
His feet and
Declare food tasteless.
Food that he does not
Know which ingredients
Were used to cook,
Ingredients that he can't
Find his way to the
Market stall where
They were bought
At prices ridiculously
Loftier than the
Pennies he threw at mama
When he was leaving for
His rascal's job at the motor park.

My father has to
Redeem his image.
That job of
His is his undoing.
It makes him
Blind to what
My brothers say when
He leaves home.

We rejoice that he
Has hit the road again,
And we think that the next
Knock will be his association
Bearing news of his death
On the highways,
News that will grant us
Access to the devil's box
On our old shelve
That father colonises

Because
He is marooned
And lonely and sad
And weak and tired
And fighting for
Being misunderstood.
   Written by GAD

*********************

My Father! My Father!     
 The pillar of strength and Tenacity, dauntless and Formidable in his ways.   
 Towering mountains may stand bragging         
   Tough times may persist like malaria symptoms
till they challenge my Father, and meet with their doom.                           
   Not like he has 6-pack abs to show for all these, in fact, his pot-belly tells it all but when he sets his mind at something, he gets it done. 
  An easy going man, though gentle as a Dove,  could also be as ferocious as a Lion if anyone dare harm any of his precious children, not to speak of his darling wife, then, all hell will break loose   
   Never met a man who quarrels  more with his wife than my Father, yet loves her much more . It is easy to know when the two are at loggerheads, because that’s when Father calls her all sorts of pet names. At such times, he comes home with fresh Ugwu leaves(Mother’s favored vegetable), presents her as though they were bouquet of Rose flowers with which he was wooing her from scratch. We the children have learnt to leave them settle their differences, come into it, and watch them join forces, heap bricks of rebuke on you, with which they mend their broken bridge.         
 
    If you see this two express love in the simplest way there can be, you will be forced to overlook their faults. After all, even lovebirds peck at each other at times.

What man would turn his back on friends and even families, if they ever got involved in Shady deal? That’s my Father. ‘A good name is better than silver and gold,’ he says.

‘There is dignity in labour,’ he preaches and lives by sweating his ass off to give his best, which might not be enough. However, in most cases, was his widow's mite.

I cannot say my Father is one in a million, but I can sure say he is the best there can be.

Love you always, my Father.       
                             
💓💓💓
Written by Olagoke