There’s a bridge,
Between these worlds,
Between these walls,
Between these folks
Who can’t stand it at all.

Stand up tall!
Start to fall.
The statements of their bridges.
The starvation of their calls.
Between these shores,
Where folks can come back,
Prodigal, humble, forsaken and all,
For one more hug,
This Father’s Day.
Forlorn, now forgiven,
Now that’s! What I say.


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.