There is no home for poetry
the one with familial fuzziness
When he comes to his resting place
in the establishment with high ceilings
where he will be among other members
judged by his world as astute.
He will not be welcomed
by his daughter; no one will run
down the stairs in ecstasy
to stand on her toes for a kiss.
not even by his poodle
wagging his tail madly
But there is always his mother
who wishes him well from afar
ever smiling at his success
and his house