When I was young,
dad would only say he loved me
when drunk.
He’d take me to his face
—a toilet bowl—
and spew the sewerage.
Or at least
that’s how I saw it.
I hardly do it but
tonight,
years on,
I got drunk
and when my housemate entered
I felt this overwhelming love.
It was like
I was free to just admit
my housie was chocolate cake
and I’d loved my chocolate cake
all along
and none of this felt weird
in any way.
Maybe dad had it something like this
and it took the grog to just let go
and love me the way he always
actually
had.
Maybe most of the time
love is too intense to handle sober.
I never really get you dad
but this glass here’s for you.
