the poem and reflection are both reflections but unrelated.

Father's day was calm, relaxing. Watching favorite movies, reading a book and eating the best homemade meal on the planet. Went out to the shop and looked for a lost part for the better part of an hour when I decided that yesterday was not the day for getting all worked up. Played games with my son and reflected. 
There are three things that I am that I love being, a poet, a father and a husband (in no discernible order mind you). There are other things that I am that I could do without maybe or maybe not but nonetheless I do not like them as much as the other three. We look for the constants which medication does not erase, many things wax and wane with time and in the constants we find out ourselves defined/refined.


the medications make me sweat when I am not sedentary.
Years ago I found I could no longer lie, once I had taken a Buddhist vow. When I try I lose my words and cannot speak what I so desperately want to lie about. Think about it like this - say you look like a whore in a particular dress and ask me how you look - the right answer is 'sexy' or the non-committal 'good' - what comes out of me is - 'well, you look like a whore.' which inevitably ruins the whole evening.
with the language that I wear as a skin I am still able to word things that they are truth but convey nothing of the meaning of said truth. "you look ready for friday night.'
or just be objective - 'wow, how much does that cost?' 
but as I said, it would come out of me as "well, you look like a whore."




sweat

my body stinks, sweat beads
soaked my shirt and slacks.
I changed my boxer briefs and socks
but should’ve taken a shower and
changed all my clothes.

I don’t mind so much when
the stink gets to others
if they’re offended, so what;
it’s when the scent
offends me.
distracting!

there is a lot of day to get
through still
before a bath of shower can
be employed.
for now I’ll have to bear it
and so will everyone else.

 - Hoc Scripsi