My Dad Is Dead, I Think
Try to recall
What was he like?
Seems so long ago
Years and fathers alike.
Was he the second,
Or maybe the third?
So many behind me
My memory is blurred.
My mom's average is low,
Two years at the most;
Believe me twelve fathers
Is nothing to boast.
He looked so familiar,
How could I forget?
Was he my real dad?
I fill with regret,
For now he lies buried
Six feet below.
Was he my real dad?
I may never know.
circa 1989
Copyright © Maureen McGreavy The Insolent Rib | Year Posted 2017
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