My Dad
It may not always seem like it, but I really love my Dad.
At any rate, I was kind of stuck with him, he was the only one I had.
He and I went through some pretty tough times, when my mother screwed around.
We travelled together all over the world, and when we were Canada bound.
He let me smoke cigarettes, he let me drink beer. He made me a rye and coke.
He wonders why Im an alcoholic, he wonders why I smoke.
When we got home he was often alone, he lived by himself in T.O.
Whenever he;d ask for me to come down, I,d jump on the bus and I,d go.
But now that I,m older and I need his shoulder, he seems to think I am to blame.
I was hurt at work, because of some jerk, since then I,ve had crippleing pain.
He,ll die one day, of this I,m sure, I don,t know if I,ll cry.
To say that I won,t miss him, well that would be a lie.
I just pray that I am different, I pray that I,m not like him.
So excuse me while I butt out my cigarrette and finish my tonic and gin.
Copyright © Thomas Plue | Year Posted 2009
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