A half empty
cup of bitterness
resides as the barrier between
and daughter. I
sip gingerly, feigning apathy
at the aroma that floods nostrils like
disappointment at the bottom of a dam-
cracked and broken, water rushing over
the, once child, now ‘adult’.
The man, lonely, with rolled shirtsleeves,
with iPhone silenced, with business calls silenced,
suppresses a sigh.
He questions – he stares – he wonders
for the stranger sat across
from him, barred
by a Styrofoam cup brimming with bitterness.
His daughter; his familiar stranger.
But across from a vibrating
call, a heard, but ignored call,
sat a body ruined by expectations
of what her father ‘should have been’.
Beside, climbs a little girl –
Blonde hair, short and bobbed,
green eyes glistening
and magic. With chubby
she clutches a tooth for childhood
to claim that night.
over her father’s shoulders, she
climbs. Taller and taller than
she’d ever seen before. The man
bought her orange juice, handed
it with smiles, to the
too small for coffee.
This piece of writing was created in the Autumn of 2015.