Book Three
Domestic politics
Damn dirty domestic politics.
Father dead, saw him, dead;
Damn those bloody undertakers,
Had myself thinking he was sleeping:
Walked in;
Saw him in the casket,
Looking fine like he had never ailed,
Dad, open your eyes,
For once, please, murmur your hate:
Nothing;
What it is to lose;
Infinite loss, felt my head sway with heat,
Tears in my eyes? Why, why, why?
Time for no more answers,
Had wanted him to remember me.
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