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
Afraid
and only
as innocent
as i hoped
i could have been
Just like my father
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
quite hard to believe you're only 15 - wonderful poetry - sequence of thoughts - well-laid out and charming