I used to say that
When I grow up,
I want to be like dad
Just thinking about him
Tears rise in my eyes
I can still hear it
Dad’s pantomime laugh
Bouncing of the kitchen walls
My mother
A riot of plates and cutlery
Throwing his dinner on the table
Him griping about work or whatever
Some memories remain so fresh
We where a happy family
My farther refused to say
Anything that my hurt his wife
He liked to create a big fuss
Over her
And he’d talk so enthusiastically
To her
Dad was quick to raise his hand
Whenever mum asked for help
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