He was no Alfred

The war was over my father was coming home from the sea
he had chocolate bars, and inside one there was a picture of a film star
propaganda is not new- my picture was of Clark Able
I remember the bar of chocolate as being a bit stale, but sweet.
I was in bed at the time, was pale and thing suffering from tuberculosis
my old man looked aghast and said; is this son?
A furious argument erupted, my father had to leave, never saw him again
except on the bus going into town, he sat there crying
and I left to avoid the embarrassment.
But this was years before I met Alfred, who refuses to be my father.