It was going to rhyme.

But that took from it.

Forced words I didn’t want to say.

So now it doesn’t.

She wrote too, you know.

Probably not for you.

You were just a one night whirlwind of lust

That danced into and straight back out of her life.

And mine.

I know because she told me.

It doesn’t bother me …

Don’t think that it does.

You were engaged at the time.

Perhaps on a break.

Or maybe she just tells herself that.

To ease the guilt.

You do not know of my conception.

You do not know me.

I long … sometimes … to know you.

To see, if you are As she says …

Like me.

She says I have your eyes.

They always startle her.

Today I find my thoughts treading softly down the path

That could lead me to you.

But then I think of your children.

Whom you raised.

Tucked into bed at night with a soft kiss and whispers of sweet dreams.

Today, especially, I think of you.

And long to know you.

But today is your day.

Not mine.


17th June 2010. “Father’s” Day.


- Catherine