I never had a dad But I had a man who often said “well done lad!”, Who only came home At weekends To sleep in A different bed. My mum who in turn Got close to her mother After my father got up and fled. I mutter these words like I still suffer Oh, how I looked up to him The big man The big don The preacher who tried But just was a big con He had a special way With his uncontrollable eye For every type of Barbie To an average looking Cindy. Yes he is my father But not my very own dad.