Dad

by

Kenneth R. Bays

My dads been gone, for many years.
I remember him often, in my memory he sears.
My dad to himself, he always put first,
The money he made, went to quench his thirst.
Alcohol was vital, to this man I called dad,
The way he treated us, was so very sad.
We couldn't eat until he was done,
Leftovers we'd have, sometimes there were none.
Do you know what it's like to see your mother cry,
Because there's no food, as the cupboards are dry?
My mother survived, and so did we,
But we still have scars, many you can't see.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Mirage
by: Richard Betts Jr.
from: Warrington, PA, US

To visit all of Kenneth R. Bays's poems, click HERE

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