Matty Richardson, the Usurper
I am no longer
a hero
to my son,
he likes
Matthew
Richardson:
a nodding smirk
from Matty
and my son lights up
like the M.C.G
at night.
Matty doesn’t
stumble to the T.V,
fumble the switch,
(“Enjoy your trip Dad? ”)
say,
“Bedtime cool cat”
and forget there’s
still a quarter left
for my son to watch.
(“Cool Daddio”)
Matty’s an everyday
Santa Claus
he flies up through the clouds
with his signature,
then swoops
straight down
into our mailbox:
AFL players negotiate
small, tight spaces.
I lift my son up
plonk him in the car
check his seat belt
and run amber
for the Tigers’ training.
Footballs elude the grip
of stalking hands,
bounce off chests,
or into players’ faces:
they’re so much
better at their green stage
rehearsing the big part
they’re gonna play,
young men with plans
kicking goals
in life.
Matty waves
to my son
who smiles a shelter-shed smile
where disappointment
is missing out on
your favorite smartie.
If he finds a girl
named Wendy,
he can stay this way.
The training spectacle
obscures my projection
of impending doom. .
I see my son in plaster,
or drinking with radio talkback,
face covered
on front page
of The Herald Sun.
I worry
about my son,
I save
for his future,
I do
what I can
to please him:
I take him
to see Matty.
Don’t leave
the Tigers Matty,
it would break
my son’s heart:
he stuck by you
when the
whole world
pointed out
your genius
flawed.
A fickle public,
they choose to forget your skill,
your natural athleticism
and pain tolerance, Matty
all because you sulkily
pointed at the replay screen
after a “white maggot’s”
bad decision.
Now you are
my son’s hero,
his search over,
rewarded,
me, the ‘old man’ discarded,
chewing gum that’s lost it’s flavour.
Matty is dashing and daring,
the ‘old man’ is boring and stupid
to my son
ever since
he found out
I was flawed.
I don’t wish you
any harm Matty,
but I look forward
to the end
of your career;
then you too
can find out
what it’s like
to be
an also ran,
and to lose
hero status.
My son will
soon forget you Matty:
ask,
“Did you
used to be
Matthew Richardson? ”
“How did you
get so fat? ”
By then Matty
you’ll want to
start a family,
and I’ll be
your role model
and then,
I’ll be
a hero
again.
poem by Pete Dowe
Added by Poetry Lover
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