my father, a beautiful man with no hair

probably cries himself to sleep every night

betrayed by the thought of being unkind

perhaps I forgot to mention

he is the kindest man I know, and his kindness

is the infectious kind

the kind that will ruin you

will empty your bank accounts,

estrange your wife

make your kids hate you

and maybe spark your untimely death.

But it befits my father, it makes him a better person

or so he says.


Sometimes I wish I had left him sooner

perhaps then sitting in his tiny shithole of a house

he would have come to his senses

he would have made my mother stay

he would have treated us fairly

maybe this is what comes from being kind

all the hate, the misery, the failure, the penury

but strangely enough, i want his bald head

his tatteredĀ  clothes, that old Ford he drives

his love for Goldflakes, his white beard

even his tiny frail legs, and weak shoulders

strong enough to hold the weight of kindness

too weak to be burdened with love

my beautiful father, with no hair.

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