My Father is Asleep

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash

There he is

his face hidden in his arms

pages of newspaper peering from under his belly

the old habit of his

reading and passing on to sleep,

lying like a well fed python.

When he is like this

I want to go over and put my head on his back

Make a big ‘T’ of two people

and just lie there until he wakes up

but I don’t.

I have an image in my head that I did something like that

when I was younger

it could be true.

Sometimes I bulge up with anger

and I want to lay all my darkness at his feet

every fucking argument, every fucking fight

plays before my eyes,

my anger and despair boils over

I wish you weren't my father, I scream

ignorant, prejudiced, stupid and weak

I am screaming less,

I am screaming less often..

he is graying in that slow decaying fashion

which tells you: it is now futile,

keep your accusations to yourself, this litigation is over

I fear he is less today than yesterday

the light in him burning out

like a radioactive element disintegrating

I am afraid, and

I feel like a moron.

Time is flying like the clouds in summer

I am the way I am,

and he is the way he is

standing at the opposite edges of a great chasm

that is getting wider,

I wish we would wave.

I wish we would make up a happy memory together

before the inertia kills us both.