Tough Little Fella of Mine

Initial disclosure.   This is a poem I wrote about my son for a work contest.   I have written thousands of pages of material in my blog for the past 6 years and this marked the first poem off my fingertips in years.   It isn’t a perfect poem, and if it were held up to any height of poetic standard for colleges, it wouldn’t stand for long.  However, instead of writing a sports themed Buffa Sonnet, I went from the heart here and wrote about the experience of seeing your son in a hospital room under duress.  Think of it as a recipe.   A touch of bright optimism mixed with the ever lurking shade of gray.   Poem or blog, writing comes down to being able to attach words to emotions and allow a connection between the heart and head to take place.   Everyone can write.  All you have to do is sit down, take some time and give a little of yourself to the public.  Writing is difficult only for those who can’t completely open up.  Think of it as dancing with your hands.  A sense of freedom and fearlessness has to be included into the package or it won’t work.  There, enough of the monologue.  I am already losing your attention and I haven’t even given forth the main idea of this blog.   Like a politician picking the wrong speech.   Anyway…..Enjoy this.  A brief detour from the Usual Buffa Blast route of material disposal.   Experiences like the ones I have had in Vinny’s young life only produce these kinds of words.  

“Tough Little Fella of Mine” By Dan Buffa

The kid climbs into the ring one more time/determined to destroy whatever lies in his way

The heart rate rises/the saints come running into the room in all shapes and sizes

The tough little fella looks around/struggling to make a leap over this tall medical bound/

I look deep into his eyes like a broke angel/

I pledge/be calm my child and this too shall pass

What lies in his future/A father cannot know

The mother stands near/She shakes like a  deer

Tough little fella of mine goes to war/fighting for his future all over again

Fluids run through his body like security teams/putting out dangerous fires wherever they seem

All a father can do is sit there and wonder/Why is this happening to my child?

He pierces a glance through my eyes/Strong blues on scared brown skies

Two men staring at each other/generations connected through touch

His hands collapsed on mine/like pebbles on a rock

Experiences don’t yield words at first/but through emotions they grow at once

The Coats and Scrubs come to stay/tall angels keeping evil genes at bay/

Tough little fella of mine/The kid rises/he is safe once again

The End

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Author: D. Buffa

A regular guy who feels a journalistic hunger to tell the news. I blog because its wired into my brain to write what I think in print. I offer an opinion. A solo tour here. Take regular stories and offer my spin on them. Sports, film, television, music, fatherhood, culture, food, and so on. Commentary on everything. A St. Louis native and Little Rock resident who wants to write just to keep the hands fresh and ready.

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