Classic Poem

Now , alas, it is too late
To buy Manhattan real estate,
But when my father came to town,
He could have bought for fifty down,
And I should not be where I am:
Yet does my father give-a-damn,
Or ever say, " I'm sorry, boy,"
Or looking at me, murmur, " Oy?"
He does not grieve for what I've missed,
And yet I'm called an Anarchist!