I couldn’t become June Cleaver for you.
You couldn’t be Marcia Brady for me.
I tried to put that apron on
And learn to make a *** roast, but
You took a grudge and nourished it
And watched it thrive for 30 years
While I turned into a withered husk
In the desert of lost affection.

I wanted to be your special friend -
Your one safe place in a tempest.
I built strong walls and a comforting fire
You never set foot past the doorway.
The welcome mat was never pulled in
And a small light was always burning
But you were lost in a different place
And wouldn’t let me try to find you.
ljm