The Talk

You said to me
(With a high degree
Of formality, I might add),
that we were going to have a
Talk…

I knew it right when you said it,
you were going to kill me.  
Of coarse, none of us know
everything, and to my
mistake and fortune,
you, in fact, did not kill me.

What you ended up doing was much
worse.  You put both hands on my
shoulders, and said “Son, you ain’t
gonna be seein’ my daughter no more”

First, I must forgive you’re perhaps habitual
and cultural mistake of calling me “Son”, for I
am not your son, and saying that I am in the
same sentence that you refer to me “see”ing your
daughter is, I must say, disgusting.

Second, you are most dreadfully mistaken.
I, in fact, will be “see”ing your daughter
much more in the future and there’s nothing
you can do about it.  Unless you plan to kill me,
which, as I stated earlier, was not your chosen
coarse of action, and those circumstances
will most likely remain relatively intact.

Third … well … there is no third.