The Method

The Method

erin's father
lamented
how is daughter
never bothered
to even call

erin's father
said she 
was a thankless daughter
cause she never called him
unlike her friend amber
who was only 
a family friend
not even
a member of the family
proper 

erin reminded her father,
"she only calls cause i pay her
$40 dollars an hour. i pay her
a lot to call every month
and listen to you
for hours."

erin said
if she wasn't a good daughter
she wouldn't pay amber
$40 dollars an hour
costing her 
almost 200
every month
to make her father
feel as good as it does
to have somebody
entertain him
his jokes and stories
and musings
for so long

erin told her father,
"if i didn't love you,
i wouldn't pay
for your delight
at amber
listening
without interruption,
unless to tell you
what an intelligent
humble and gracious man
and father
you are."

erin said
it was not small price
to her or her friend
lying about his modest home
being majestic
his meager accomplishment
as grand
and pretending
his desserts
were something other
than just

erin
told her father
she loved him so much
the proof
in her action
of giving so much delight
at 40 dollars an hour
which was far less
than what his daughter
made

her father asked,
"what if i pay you the same
to do the same, since it would feel 
so much better coming from my own daughter?"

but erin said,
"give it to amber. she needs it even more than me.
and you'll get a few more hours out of her."

her father asked,
"why do you hate me so much?"

erin said, 
"to the contrary, you ought to be asking
what you've done to deserve so much of amber's
affection that i so gladly pay so much for."

"it just isn't the same," her father said.

"you've heard of method acting?" erin asked. 

"yes," her father said.

"and i'm sure you wish you were more like robert deniro."

"of course," her father said. "i've imagined that."

"so method act. besides, it's nothing new. we've been
pretending this is about the both of us
when we've both known for decades it's all about you."

erin
once asked amber
if she thought
her father
still knew
or even cared
that all of her attention
was a ruse

amber said,
"he wanted so badly for it to be real,
he quit caring after a couple of months. 
i think he knows it's not real. but he's
chosen to forget."

amber added,
"knowing it's paid for
doesn't matter much
cause the kisses and caresses
of a whore
are better than none
when kisses and caress
are desperately needed."

"you're not a whore," erin said.

"i know," amber said. "i think of it more like dog walking."

still
from time to time
erin's father
can't help but think
about the real daughter
he might have had
pondering that
to the exclusion
of the thought
of what kind of father
he might have been

erin
sometimes asks
her friend amber,
"do you ever feel sorry for him?"

amber has always said, "no." 
that his is a misery of his own making.
which she's concluded from the hours 
and hours of his blathering about himself 
to the exclusion of any interest or concern 
for either of them.

"but you gotta be careful," erin said. 
"not to pour the honey
on too thick. otherwise, 
the illusion - the method - 
will collapse."

"if there's anything i've learned about 
him over the years," amber said, "it's 
that no amount of honey is ever too thick."

erin began to weep.

"that's the problem," she cried. "i've know 
forever it can never be thick enough. ever."

amber felt terrible for her friend. she 
said next month there'd be no charge for 
the calls. she said it was the least she 
could do for an old friend.

2 thoughts on “The Method

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.