Slip, fall
No movement for a couple seconds
Passed out on the floor
Blood covers his face and shirt
Responsible drinking Dad

"Get him up!"
Panic quickly enters the room
So close,
But he collapses again

"Call 911!"
My hands are shaking
As I dial for help
"Hello where do you live"
More questions are asked while they are still trying to stand him up

Bright flashing lights take control of everyone's attention
He is conscious now sitting with the police
Drunk fingers hold mine tightly for support
But why should I support him?

The bright lights take him off to where he will be spending the night
When we get there he is lying down in a room
"Someone give me a gun, I need to die"
Dad, you're drunk
Tears fill up in my eyes as I sit and watch my father figure in a new light
"Plummy, do you have a gun for me?"

A little part of me dies when he says that
I feel sick to my stomach, where is the dad I used to know?
No Dad, I don't have a gun
He looks at me with sadness and embarrassment
But I cannot get myself to look back with love and support
So I just don't look at him

I never let myself judge him because of things like this
Tonight that idea changed in my head
I just hope this is a wake up call for him too