My Own "Daddy"

Best read alongside Syliva Plath's original, which I tried to model, rather strenuously at times!
http://www.internal.org/Sylvia_Plath/Daddy

My Own "Daddy"

You do not do, you do not see through
any more, black goo
in which I have lived like a shrew
for thirty years, over-educated and white,
barely daring to contradict or say this will not do!

Daddy, I have had to learn to hate you
You died before I got there
Coffin full of bear and bluster
Ghastly monument with makeup made you unrecognizable
But still big as a mountain

And a head yet stuck in socialism
Where countries you admired fell into chaos and ruin
In the waters off beautiful coastal Africa
I used to pray to be as interesting to you
Damn you.

In the 50s language, in the LA landscape
Scraped flat by the roller
of movies, movies, movies.
But the name of sad need is common
My Marilyn Monroe

Says there are many orphans.
So I never could tell for sure where you
Came from, no solid root
I never could ask you
The thought stuck in my mind.

It stuck in celluloid snare and wine&beer
Rage, rage, rage, rage
I could barely speak in my own house
I thought every authority-figure was you
And the language was fear

A power, a power
Taking me off like a Gypsy
A Gypsy to a concentration camp
I began to talk like a displaced person before I ever ran away from you
I think I may well be a Gypsy too.

The palm trees of Sepulveda Blvd, the stars of Hollywood
are not what they seem, are not what they do
With my bastard inheritance and my good luck
And all my new age leanings
I may be a bit of a Gypsy-Jew.

I have always been scared of you
With your belt, your fist on the wall
And your black beard
And your squinty dark eyes
Nightmare-Man, how you held us in thrall

Not God but close enough
So fire&brimstone that no dis-obediance could slip through
Every woman marries her father
And gets the boot on her chin, gets controlled again
Booted heart of a brute like you.

You stand beyond the mountains, daddy
that you died on, in the photo I have of you
A dent in your forehead instead of your backpack
But no less the fool for that fall, no not
Any less the hurried man who

Bit my pretty little life in two.
I was twenty-four when they buried you.
At fifteen I tried to die with alcohol
And get your attention back, and get back to you
I thought even a boyfriend 5 years older would do

But they pulled me on to a bright future
And they stuck me together with SATs and college glue
And then I knew I had to go to graduate school
I met&married a man, on model of you
A man in bad clothes with a grumpy look

And a love of the lawyerly argument and the kinky screw.
And I said I will, I admit, I do.
So daddy, I'm now through.
The computer's completely shut down,
The FaceBook-photo memories can't feed through.

If I've killed one illusion of love - I've killed two
The dream of love who said he was you
And took my energy for a year, or two,
Eleven years, if you want to understand.
(But that was a long time ago.)
Daddy, I'm safe, you can rest now.

There's a flower on your grave
And the world respects you.
They are still giving awards in your name to honor you.
They always knew you were a good man.
Daddy, daddy, you asshole, I love you.