People thought I moved there
To spend more time with my father
But I moved in to be alone.
So we were just alone together
In the skeleton of what used to
Be our happy family.
He would drink beer
And I would sit on the floor of my room.
He said good night to me every night.
And made me breakfast in the mornings.
Two eggs always. Never failed.
Half of the time I threw them away.
He never said anything when
I tracked in mud,
Or stayed out late.
And he never mowed the yard
Or cleaned the bathroom.
We never cleaned anything.
We never did anything.
Our family’s stuff was piled everywhere,
And they were everywhere but here.
I probably spoke twelve words that whole year.
When I moved out my father told me
He would miss me terribly.