last lines (and this has a great one)

Goodbye, April...hello, (holy-crap-it's-) May! I'm looking forward to bluer skies, warmer days, and living out some of the poetry that filled this month. Being outdoors always helps. Enjoy this last poem, and the hiatus from daily posting that's sure to follow.

--

Father to the Man
by Tom C. Hunley

The OBGYN said babies almost never

 arrive right on their due dates, so

the night before my firstborn was due

 to make his debut, I went out with the guys

until a guilt-twinge convinced me to convince them

 to leave the sports bar and watch game six 

on my 20-inch, rabbit eared, crap TV. After we

 arrived, my wife whispered, "My water broke"

as the guys cheered and spilled potato chips

 for our little dog to eat up. I can't remember

who was playing whom, but someone got called

 for a technical, as the crowd made a noise



that could have been a quick wind, high-fiving

 leaf after leaf after leaf. I grabbed our suitcase

and told the guys they cold stay put, but we

 were heading for the hospital and the rest of



our lives. No, we're out of here, they said.

 Part of me wanted to head out with them,

back to the smell of hot wings and microbrews,

 then maybe to a night club full of heavy bass


and perfume, or just into a beater Ford with a full

 ash tray, speeding farther and farther into 

the night, into nowhere in particular. Instead I walked

 my wife to our minivan, held her hand as she



stepped down from the curb, opened her door,

 shut the suitcases into the trunk, and

ran right over that part of me, left it

 bleeding and limping like a poor, stupid squirrel.