The Quest
When a child my father was absent from my life
I dreamt about him and gave him heroic status.
He was an explorer, submariner, western hero
and a general in the foreign legion; I never saw
him as a fireman though, children tend to see
them as heroes. Needless to say the sloth moving
town constable was a figure of fear and contempt
representing authority, vengeful and unjust.
When I finally met my father he had bad breath
and nicotine stained fingers. I rejected reality
and went on looking for the real on, till I was old
and I had to admit he must be dead by now.
I look into the mirror and sigh, no doubt he must
have looked like me, melancholy is my name.
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