ODE TO THE PRESIDENT, by Frank Vespe

He just turned legal, plays guitar, his craft.
An Aries like me, a Graduate student of math.
I taught him to dribble, now he beats me,
Swoosh! a three-pointer, from the top of the key.

I fear for my son.

Threescore ago, another Irishman won,
Escalated a conflict, M16s, their guns.
“Life’s like a box of chocolates,” the guy on the bench said.
He couldn’t save them all, fifty-eight thousand dead.

I fear for my son.

They’ll test you, Mister President, I’m certain of that.
Tonkin you into a war, another Nam, another draft.
“Send in the troops!”, no surprise to me.
Montreal is pretty in Fall, with my son, c’est la vie.

J’ai peur pour mon fils.