A Life's Work

"He
is a true eclectic"
Proudly preening parental techniques
Return from Trial by School ,
But, "Boy.  Why so glum?"

He
cannot help it.  He just does it all.
But only wants to play football -
The type with a soccer ball
He reminds his imported father before the smart-ass comment falls.

Shame
then that Cricket's the game.
School Pride at your batting prowess.
Not that today's Dad ever made the effort
To say, "Is this your game, my son?"
It must be, see him playing.
Thwack!  With every bat,
See the leather hit the back of the net.

College
comes with new brain food.
Brainlessly dished out to aimless students
Of booze.  You find you're good at that too.
Who would have guessed your academic prowess
Would yield pickled veins, a first
And inane friends who say, "You could be
The next great management guru some day."
Do you continue playing these adopted games?

And
four years on, returning home
To a father, the next tip-toed nationality.
You wonder if there are pin-holes in the globe
You wheeled round and round when you were four
Until it parted. Rolled down the garden.
Your father returned it.  The world fixed once more.
And playing dominoes on the floor
He told you there was nothing you couldn't do
If you wanted to.

Sound
advice from one who wanted the door.