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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2220760-Not-Willies-Son
Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #2220760
The diferences between my father and I.
Willie was an abuser;
he hit,
he yelled,
he threw things,
raised unholy hell
when he got mad.

I am his oldest son,
but when I get angry,
I either say stupid things,
or I write.
Period.

Willie was a womanizer,
never stayed
more than a few months
or years
with any woman
before moving on
to greener pastures.

I kind of took after him
a couple of times there,
but my first marriage
lasted eighteen years,
this second ten
and going strong still.

Willie drank a LOT.
I remember guzzling six packs
of Shiner beer
that last time I saw him
thirty-five years ago. . . .

I drink a beer
or tequila sunrise
every now and then,
that's it.

Willie was a Warrior,
battle-tested
and tougher
than a five dollar steak.

I am a man of peace,
never went to war,
never had to fight
my fellow man,
but in my own way.
I too
am very tough.

Willie
was outgoing,
friendly to everybody,
the life of any party.

I am an introvert,
reserved in public,
not going to win
any popularity contests.

Willie was handsome,
with tanned skin,
crew cut hair
his entire life
and clean-shaven
till the day he died.

I am rather plain,
my skin is pale,
hair unruly,
and I have a full beard
most of my adult life.

Willie stayed in shape
aside from bronchitus
and a bad liver
from smoking
as well as drinking.

I'm a hundred pounds overweight,
bad back,
arthritis in my right shoulder,
near sighted as Mr. Magoo. . . .

In the end,
however,
Willie died alone.

I hope and pray
that won't be MY fate.

I am
and am NOT
Willie's son,
for better or worse.
© Copyright 2020 Randy RosarioWyatt (randyr at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2220760-Not-Willies-Son