Carry On My Wayward Son

Kailua and WaimanaloMy Dear Boy.

I realized after I called the world a pregnant bitch,
That I was being profoundly selfish,
Thinking of my own needs and wants,
And my own feelings,
Neglecting the crux of the matter:
Namely, that you are on a path
That you must see through to the end.

The fear and loneliness,
Which you must be feeling right now,
I can only imagine.
And perhaps anger at those
Who would send you off,
After so many years of service,
When you were already thinking
Of a future, basking under a warm sun,
Of gin and tonics on weekends,
Of a life that would mean a home to return to,
After a long day’s work,
Year in, year out.

All that best laid plan,
thrown askew by a single email:

Dear {First Name} {Last Name}:

You are going to A-.
Thank you for being a man.

Sincerely,

The Detailer.

The walls of a cozy reality,
Came crashing down, like Jericho,
After being marched around for 22 years,
Upon reading that hateful message.
No, I cannot imagine how you must feel.

And I am sorry that I have reacted so poorly,
As to be an unsupportive friend.
My hand is still held out,
to hold some of that fear,
Confusion,
Anxiety,
Misery,
Guilt,
Failure,
And ease those burdens from your tired shoulders,
Because I cannot take them away.

But I can be a walking staff,
That, you, my wayward son
Can carry,
And help you find peace,
When you are done.

*here’s to positive thoughts, faith, and hope, that all is well in Guam*

 

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