I love my dad

I wake to see him leave for work

Bothered, busy and a berk

Hat, keys, a kiss for mum and gone

 

The door shuts but opens again oddly

To whom has the pleasure so fondly?

A mother knows best it seems

As the Milkman’s round

 

What would dad say?

What should I say if anything at all?

It's not my place to feel so small

Holding the atomic smash of a bomb in my bones

 

She kisses him for no reason

They laugh, such treason

In my home with no rhyme or reason

This isn't my place anymore

 

Day after day

Morning after Morning

Stuck living in mourning

 

Broken and shattered, a house lies in ruin

If only he'd pass on by

Yelling as if to cry

 

This fiction lives vibrantly

Triggered and divisively