Father, Father

He panted at the A&P
To pocket his depressing pay
To give his jobless father
After school in thirty-three
And nine to five on Saturday

And to mother whose shortening
Drizzled bread instead of butter
"With no milk," she poorly swallowed,
That tomorrow she might barter
For her bread a day old stale.

I hand delivered daily news,
Although I wished to toss it all
Instead to play some basketball
In sixty-three and, if they pleased,
Please the girls who were inclined.

“He’s good enough for prep school, Mike,”
The parish priestly father said,
“And I can get him in for free,”
But his father had no mind
For schooling him who schooled me.