Familiar

Her dad likes me.
He asks me in whenever I pop by
takes me to the living room
and offers me Heart to Hearts.
Once
he offered me cigars
and showed me where he keeps the key to the liquor cabinet.
Her dad likes me.
She could care less.

I stop by frequently,
hoping she’ll make time for me.
He always does.
We get along great,
he and I.
He sees a lot of him in me.
I foresee a lot of me
in his daughter.
We don’t talk about that
– not with words
but he provides tacit approval,
I’m sure.

Her dad likes me
she tolerates me.
That’ll change, I’m sure,
eventually.
I’ll balance this out
with the right kind of appreciation
from the right member of the family.

In the meantime,
I’ll hang with the Johnson who will have me,
and smoke with him
and drink with him
and occasionally, when he asks,
oil wrestle with him.
Her dad really likes me.

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