Sunday morning
Yesterday’s cigars smelt like him
Bold
Specific in their smell

Just like my father

Always hyper
Sometimes amusing
Never genuine

Just like my father

His drinking
Is no dilemma
What leaves me queasy
Is drunk sincerity

Just like my father

Stumbling in the house
Reeking of cheap brandy
At 5 in the morning

Just like my father

With sayings
Not possibly, farther
From the truth

Just like my father

Leaving me
Alone
Innocent
And afraid

Just like my father