Just a Typical Sunday
They say it’s Father’s Day
a time to celebrate
the man who raised you
praised you
taught you to be strong
and right from wrong
but they’ve got it all wrong
because to me it’s
just a typical Sunday.
Who were you?
A man with my name
once married to my mother
obsessed with my brother
I was a nobody
quiet, a girl, too smart
for her own self
too smart for you
saw right through
your lazy intentions
and useless inventions
and get-rich schemes
chasing money like a dog
after a car
but it slipped through your fingers
like water
while your daughter
did her own thing
no need for a king
no need for anything.
I learned to survive
in a state of starvation
isolation
no need for attention
so used to desertion.
You ignored my good grades
my sports and school plays
didn’t subscribe to my life
Abused wife?
You took his side
‘cause I must have earned it.
After all
I was nothing
too quiet, a girl
with my own mind
which you never tried to know
and so
nothing I say has value.
Now you lie
in your nursing home bed
stroke-damaged head
and it’s said
that I owe you
attention
my love and affection
long conversations.
But Daddy
when you live your life
in starvation
how do you feed
another?
I never know what to say
or the new rules to this game
you and I just aren’t the same
a shame.
I don’t know who you are
and you only know that I’m
quiet, a girl
not as good as her brother
whatever else you see
through your closed eyes
so don’t be surprised
if my visits are brief
a card, maybe
quick kiss on the cheek
and maybe we’ll speak.
Then I’ll be on my way
not much to celebrate
‘cause what good are fathers anyway?
Father’s Day
is just a typical Sunday.