Dad, won’t you come see me in the city?

I know you hate the traffic  

and the prices, but I’d stock the fridge with Old Mills  

and ice cream because I know you’re a man 

of simple vices and you’ve mostly passed 

that on to me. And I’d take you to the pool hall 

so I could show you what my boyfriend has taught me.  

I’ve become a good shot, and the old-timers like me.  

I’ve been getting better at breaking, 

and I can drink with the best of them, like a hobby.  

And I’d like you to meet him, yes.  

It’s very evolved of you, that you trust my judgment, I guess.  

I’m not asking for a blessing, it’s just that, well— it’s just that

you’re hard to explain. I’ve tried before  

and I have to say it was kind of a relief 

when my boyfriend said, I don’t know, babe, 

he kinda just sounds like a dick.

Anyway, the good bands 

play here. My friends play in some, and they’re alright.

And then there’s tribute shows and farewell tours.

Names you’d remember from being 

a teenager with a Chevy and a stereo.  

Dad, you’re on the other side of a century, 

but I know you hate the traffic.  

I guess you’re old enough now to know  

what’s worth the drive.