I remember not, the Father of my youth,
But instead I recall an absence,
An absence of memory,
And an absence of nurture.
I remember not, His didactic touch,
If there ever was one,
Because his hands were always filthy,
And busy with the heavy load of inebriation.
I remember not, a kiss from those lips,
If even possible,
Because his lungs were always arrested by tar,
And asphyxiation seemed imminent.
I remember not, a Father figure,
But instead I recall a gap,
A gap in grey matter,
And a gap to separate our natures.