Ode to the Iron Duke

Ode to The Iron Duke

Not dad, not pops, not old man nor Father

With those labels he could not bother

But a pithy nickname

Coined during a golf game

Made us fear him like The Godfather

As he limped off the tee

With two fake hips, had he

Replacements that were man-made

After a long drive he forbade

With six words legend was made

“Don’t fuck with the Iron Duke” said he

His big steel bird was shot down

The Germans had knocked his crown

Then he floated toward Berlin

Where his spirit sunk from within

Yet from the wired cage he was in

He still managed to pee in the Commandant’s gin

Spawning six kids

Three girls, three boys

Those cute small arachnids

He showered with toys

But they could make his life smell

And made so much noise

This Brady Bunch could go to hell

And take all their damn toys

With three sprawling estates

And a big shiny grey Cadillac

Suddenly there came the pearly gates

Where he snuck in through a crack

With a maneuver that wily

He’d never go back

‘Cause he’d lived the Life of Reilly

Then life hit him with a “thwack”

So an Ode to the Iron Duke

Might make some want to puke

To them I care not a wit

The old man would rebuke

Anyone but The Duke

‘Cause John Wayne he can now visit

This is my dad, my pops, the old man

In time I’ve become a big fan

It hasn’t been easy

We survived the heat, but it was greasy

When he tossed us all in the frying pan

With every sad goodbye, there lingers a hello

With age I’ve grown more mellow

And his memory gets better

Whenever I wear his sweater

But really, did it have to be yellow?

I wander and I weave

This poem won’t let me leave

So how do I bring it to a close?

With my heart on my sleeve

To him I will cleave

He may read this and grin, I suppose