TBT

Maybe you should fly a jet,

Maybe you should be a vet.

 

Maybe you should march in drum corps.

Maybe you should join the peace corps.

 

You could serve as a foreign service officer,

Or identify UFOs and flying saucers.

 

You could always be a music major,

Or if you prefer, a church game changer.

 

I wouldn’t mind if you were a writer,

Or perhaps a fiercer bedroom biter.

 

You’d be happy as a tuba player,

Or a post-apocalyptic zombie slayer.

 

I’m sure Law School would be easy-peasy,

You could write standup, nothing too cheesy.

 

I know you could read for a living,

Or be a chef and cook Thanksgiving.

 

You could go pro in racquetball,

Or get political and campaign for Rand Paul.

 

I know you’d thrive as a preacher,

You’d be my number one leader/teacher.

 

You could always be a marathon runner,

an iron man champ, a boot camp vom-er.

We could live in Lesbos and be Lesbians,

We could eat like vegans or just vegetarians.

 

Live in Germany and learn to speak,

Get good at snapchat, never lose your streak.

 

If you’d like, I’d be down to foster,

Or get a boat and fish for lobster.

 

There’s always time to be a scuba diver,

Or go back to work as an uber driver.

 

It’s not too late to be a coin collector,

Write a man on death row a friendly letter.

 

Maybe you could translate books,

Maybe you could be a cook.

 

Go ahead, start your food truck,

Or win millions with your lotto luck.

 

Maybe you should be a metal detector,

Or better yet, a marching band director.

 

You know you could graph like a behavior analyst,

Use good theology to take down televangelists.

 

Maybe you should join the military,

Shop till you drop at the commissary.

 

Fuck it all and be a minimalist,

Track those calories, be a nutritionist.

You could always study interior design,

Or be a firefighter with the thin red line.

 

You should definitely get more tattoos,

Boycott alcohol, brews, and booze.

 

Maybe get back in with Straight Edge,

Smoke your pipe alone in Anchorage.

 

Get rich quick as an online gambler,

Or just stick with fixing grammar.

 

You could pick up the guitar and play,

You could row across the Chesapeake Bay.

 

You might get interviewed on NPR.

Cover Taylor Swift’s “Getaway Car.”

 

Interrogate fools as a policeman,

Stay up late and watch CSPAN.

 

Go back to be a First Bank teller,

Or live the life of a shrimp de-sheller.

 

You can be a 21 Pilots groupie,

Or get on permanent jury duty.

 

Sail the oceans, East to West,

Be an Instagram influencer, #blessed.

 

Start a commune and aquaponics,

Decide to homeschool, teach Josh phonics.

 

My mosquito abortionist,

My entomologist,

My human rights activist,

My anti-nationalist.

My music performer,

My heart transformer.

My small-town hater,

My Dave debater.

My Star Wars rebel,

My Lego assembler.

My read out-louder,

My (surprise!) there’s clam in clam chowder?

My classics reader,

My blonde hair breeder.

My siracha fan,

My right-hand man,

My crying/hiccupping permanent date,

My partner when I procreate.

My Christmas Eve,

My souls reprieve.

My man with a Harry Potter heart,

The inspiration for my art.

 

I’d write forever just to say,

I love you, Happy Father’s Day.