This Father’s Day evening
I will finally discover
who my scoundrel pappy is.
Many starry nights there were
when I asked the heavens
to unveil who my Pops was.
It angered me that he just went
and skipped out on my Mom.
I want to see the old coot
and give him a piece of my mind.
As crazy and strange
as everyone says I am,
they know I will do it.
In this small town
I had heard many rumors
of Jaz the Crackhead, Big Jim Sheen,
and possibly even lawyer Steven Hyde
being my Mom’s sperm donors.
I’ve seen the older women of this town.
People like Sally the Barber
and Charlotte “the Gossip” Jones,
say to my friends,
“You look just like your Daddy,”
and “we knew he was your father.”
But none of them has said anything to me.
Perhaps the sleazebag
is that football star
that I see on Sundays
or that lone elderly man
in the nice big house on Waldorf.
It is one hour to Midnight
and Mom says, “It’s Father’s Day.”
The house shakes.
I am blinded by a white light—
temporarily. I open my eyes.
The revelation paralyzes me.
It stands in the doorway.
“That is your father,” Mom says.
I really am not that surprised
as I stare into the alien’s black eyes.
Francis “Wes” Alexander is coeditor with Theresa Santitoro of the Drabbun Anthology. His work has appeared in Tales from the Moonlit Path, Space and Time, Cattails, and Scifaikuest. His book When the Mushrooms Come was published in 2020 and 2023, and I Reckon was published in 2020. When the Mushrooms Come has been nominated for an Elgin Award.
Published 6/16/23
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