Our Man in Europe/Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Wait till your father gets home."
(dedicato: Gordon W./Sheffield)
WAIT till your FATHER gets home, that childhood Song of Songs in every British-1950s family's house, whether it be Tuesday Piecrust, Bread N' Butter pudding Thursday, Treacle on Toast Friday or Fish N Chips on a Saturday night?
WAIT till ya Pappa comes home, that "bank holiday" someday, that trip to some hellish U.K. seashore RESORT, peopled with CARNIES who'll rob your kids blind.
WAIT till your father gets home; that bellringing in a Child's primaeval hell, just WHO WAS that dude, who never showed, dancing, romancing, out there someplace smelling someone else's Rose?
WHO WAS and WAIT!!!...That forlorn root of a tree, that illusive-forgotten fate? Wait for your XMAS, a plastic joy-toy. But wait till your father gets home.
Who was your Pappa, a hug to embrace or the breast of your Mamma, beyond compare. Only the lonesome, the resolute, the STRONG can know the vacuum, that empty song; "Wait till your father comes home!" ever waiting eyes on the front door ...in trouble...a tremble...and hum along.
c. davedelacroix, 2025.
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