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You’re not my Dad



You’re not my Dad.
I know this.
Yet, if behaviour is anything to go by,
I don’t know it.

 Anger.
Tears.
Shouting.
You’re not my Dad.

 I run from being abandoned, overlooked, alone,
And they follow me.
They peep at me over your shoulder
When you look that way, say that thing.

 I blink and - for a moment - I see him
Instead of you.

 You’re not my Dad. I know this.
The moment passes, I see you standing there.

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