Poetry Thursday: MYOB
The Poetry Thursday assignment this week was to eavesdrop a little (oh, how I wish we'd had assignments like that in school; maybe I would've loved poetry back then, too). Eavesdropping is not new to me: I always listen in, and if possible, figure out a way to ask questions. I'm often called nosey. I don't care. I'm stocking up material for stories. Besides, as the little sister in Judy Blume's book, "It's Not The End Of The World," used to say, "The person who asks the most learns the most." I agree.
My poem is the conversation that occurred between a man and his daughter, a girl about 14, with stooped shoulders, greasy hair, and a kind face. I gathered that the man was divorced from the girl's mother and this was his weekly date-night with his daughter. She would not look at her dad, a little guy who thumped his fork against the table with nervous agitation. Instead, she busied herself with the menu, played with the table-cloth, shook Equal packets, giggled nervously. The father pretended like he was joking, but, with each sentence, he talked louder, faster, more belligerent. Somewhere along the line, the girl stopped laughing.
____________
Overheard, Between A Divorced Father and His Teen-Age Daughter
a.k.a. Not Talking Can Be Good, Too
Well, what are you gonna order?
Don't be like your mother.
You're just like you're mother.
Have anything you want.
You want a quesadilla?
You want some soup?
They've got cheesey-broccoli.
Don't worry about the price.
Next time, I'm gonna leave you home.
You're just like you're mother.
I can't stand that.
What are you gonna order?
Aren't you worried about your weight?
Is your mother still fat?
Are you sure that's what you want?
I don't give a damn what you get.
Well?
C'mon.
Order.
To read other poems, click here to visit the Poetry Thursday website.
My poem is the conversation that occurred between a man and his daughter, a girl about 14, with stooped shoulders, greasy hair, and a kind face. I gathered that the man was divorced from the girl's mother and this was his weekly date-night with his daughter. She would not look at her dad, a little guy who thumped his fork against the table with nervous agitation. Instead, she busied herself with the menu, played with the table-cloth, shook Equal packets, giggled nervously. The father pretended like he was joking, but, with each sentence, he talked louder, faster, more belligerent. Somewhere along the line, the girl stopped laughing.
____________
Overheard, Between A Divorced Father and His Teen-Age Daughter
a.k.a. Not Talking Can Be Good, Too
Well, what are you gonna order?
Don't be like your mother.
You're just like you're mother.
Have anything you want.
You want a quesadilla?
You want some soup?
They've got cheesey-broccoli.
Don't worry about the price.
Next time, I'm gonna leave you home.
You're just like you're mother.
I can't stand that.
What are you gonna order?
Aren't you worried about your weight?
Is your mother still fat?
Are you sure that's what you want?
I don't give a damn what you get.
Well?
C'mon.
Order.
To read other poems, click here to visit the Poetry Thursday website.
posted by Cate at 7:08 AM
23 Comments:
Asshole.
a.
Wow!
Hey..i loved reading it..its so funny though slightly dark..
good work..
that makes me so sad...
you did a very good job making him seem like a total jerk!
poor girl
It's amazing to me the way something unpleasant can become such powerful poetry. I wish parents could hear, really hear, the things they say to their kids. I hope he's setting aside money for her therapy.
Gaaahh, this makes me want to order cheesy broccoli soup so I can throw it in his face! Good poem about bad parenting.
eeesh.
how painful.
and sad.
i love how you put it
to poetry form
yet
i hate that it had to happen.
does that make sense?
How dismal. Disgusting even.
But I'm grateful to you for capturing it. The bad in life needs to be represented too.
Well no wonder she wouldn't look at him - how sad and disgusting. I do like how you wrote it into a poem and I imagine that it helps one cope with the emotions of hearing it to write it down.
Yikes! Poor kid will have zero self-worth from that jerk! I did like your form :)
It's interesting that the tone gets curter as the last three lines dwindle down to just words.
And I agree: I think I would have liked literature more (or at least earlier)if I could have tried assignments like this in high school.
Thanks for framing the moment.
Sad to think, this is one of her role models for relationships??? It's interesting how he's talking to her, but the conversation is really all about him. His anger, his judgements, his bitterness, his insecurity as a parent.
Thanks for sharing this - even though it leaves me sad. Well done.
Oh, this is sad... You captured a lot of pain in between the lines, I think.
:)
Tremendous! You know to get out of the way, and let the fool damn himself--of course, it doesn't relieve the pain and terror the daughter experiences, but you place us in her shoes, receiving his rebukes.
wow Cate. That WAS a poem. A depressing one, but a poignant one!
A,
You said it, sister.
Abhay,
Thanks for stopping by! It WAS funny, until I realized that the guy wasn't joking! Thanks for your comment!
Jennifer,
Wrote his words verbatim-he didn't even need my help! I just felt so sorry for the daughter, wondered if she thought that this was the way men were supposed to be . . . painful! Thanks for your comment!
Deirdre,
HA! You made me smile with the therapy line! You bet. That would hit him where it hurt!
Deb,
Cheesey broccoli soup has many purposes! I hear ya, sister-would love to have thrown it in his face! Thank you for your fire! I always love it!
GK,
You make PERFECT sense! I loved your comment. Thank you!
Jason,
You know how much your comments mean to me! Yes, the bad stuff needs representation, too, though I often struggle to find balance! Thank you for your encouragment--so appreciate it!
Kara,
I thought about the ways that the daughter might "save" herself: prayer, a great mother, read constantly, etc. I never thought about poetry, that she might write down her experiences to make sense of them. What a lovely, beautiful idea!
Tammy,
You should've seen here, all slumped and beaten down. Just heartbreaking, even without the father's dialogue. Thank you for reading those words, and for your comment!
January,
Thanks for your comment! Yes, WHY didn't we have assignments like this in high school? So much fun, so much freedom, so empowering, Maybe it's better now?!
Kim,
What an interesting observation! I hadn't thought about that! Isn't that so true, though--abuse, mistreatment, etc. is so rarely about the "victim" as it is about the perpetrator. Excellent point! Thank you for your words!
Amber,
Thank you so much! Your comment means so a lot to me!
Jim,
Oh, I was so glad for this comment from you, leading me to your incredible site (and your incredible talents!). Thank you very much for sharing your impression!
Lynn,
Oh, yes, his disdain for the ex was so apparent. What an awful position for their daughter. Thank you for this inventive, inspirational assignment! I was thrilled to take part in PT, as always!
Alexandra,
Y'know, reading the comments, I realized how depressing this poem was, but when I sat there and listened to that awful man's monologue of abuse, I never found it depressing. Maybe I was so busy feeling angry. Now, I'm depressed. I think I finally realize that I got to walk away from the blather while that's what that poor, wee girl lives with constantly. Oh, awful! Thank you so much for your words!
wow. i know this experience a tiny bit. yes. i am so glad i was older when my parents divorced because my dad was clueless.
you put me right there my dear. nicely done.
(i can't wait to try this exercise when i get out of the darn house again.)
so sad I almost didn't comment...vortex to one of not many meals with my ???father???
still, a bang dead on poem
kudos
Sadly enough, I could picture the characters who fit perfectly in this scene.. you captured it really well. Sigh.
Learn from life - good or bad.
xoxo
I feel bad that this is how parents speak to their kids, especially when they're divorced.
Great poem, but I suspect there's also a novel here. Told from alternating mother and daughter viewpoints.
It's incredible how few words so well constructed can tell such an enormous story...poignently written, Cathie.
Liz,
I'm sorry that any part of that experience was familiar to you. So many mistakes we make as parents, so often damaging (hopefully, unintentional!). Thank you for your comment!
Michelle,
Thank you so much for your encouragement! I hate that that experience is familiar to you, too.
Wendylou,
As I'm reading these comments, I'm realizing that a lot of people could imagine this exchange (though is it really an exchange :) in their own personal histories. That just sucks.
Thank you for your comment! I soooo appreciate it!
Tara,
Oh, thank you for your comment! I just ate it up! You are so kind!
Holli,
I think I know who you're talking about. A number of commenters have written about having similar experiences--maybe what's even worse is knowing a little girl who will probably end up in that same situation in the future, yet being powerless to change it. Flippin' heartbreaking.
And your quote--I'm scribbling that one down and referring to it OFTEN! Wise words, my friend!
Kiki,
I know. I sometimes hear myself when I 'm talking to my boys and I think: "Do you have to be so shrill, so loud. What the hell are you saying?" No wonder they tune me out :)]
Patry,
Spoken like a true novelist! You're comments mean so much to me. Thank you for the visit, the words, and the idea!
Susan,
Oh, I can't even take any credit for that because I really just wrote down exactly what he said! If only he channeled his awful thoughts into poetry, the world would be a better place for his girl! Thank you!
I'm moved by this poem to hope the girl has a safe diary and an encouraging writing teacher so that she can write off whatever pain she experiences. Although it is difficult for me to empathize with the father, I do wonder what kind of pain he must be experiencing to act out this way to his daughter and I'm remembering Napoleon's words: "Never to ascribe to malice, that which can be explained by incompetence."
I like how your eavesdropping poem leaves each us free to observe the scene with the experience of our own ears.
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