Friday night on the living room’s floor
The wife’s in Paris. I’m at my own devices,
but there’s a new vinyl player to tinker with
Let’s put on a record and hear the music.

The needle drops; classical tunes fill the air
It reminds me of Dad’s house, up on the hill
Not the vinyl of course, but the arrangements
Holst, Chopin, Bach, when the names were one.

Dad liked to put on an album just before tea
Boys! Pack away the cards and light the candles
Every night a new feast – here’s potato mountain
Exclusive guests at a restaurant just for four.

But then, were we quite so the exalted sons?
We only met every two months, perhaps three
Our relationship saved up in meals and activities,
Then dished out over the course of a week.

After, in the long silence between short visits,
I’d tamper down two thoughts I’ve had forever
I’m the reason our family broke apart,
I’m not lovable enough to stick around for.

The adult self rationalises many, many things
Someone has to choose, someone has to go,
But my daddy left me when I needed him most
How painful it’s been to fix something so broken.

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