the quest

The Quest
When a child my father was absent from my life
I dreamt about him and gave him heroic status.
He was an explorer, submariner, western hero
and a general in the foreign legion; I never saw
him as a fireman though, children tend to see
them as heroes. Needless to say the sloth moving
town constable was a figure of fear and contempt
representing authority, vengeful and unjust.

When I finally met my father he had bad breath
and nicotine stained fingers.  I rejected reality
and went on looking for the real on, till I was old
and I had to admit he must be dead by now.
I look into the mirror and sigh, no doubt he must
have looked like me, melancholy is my name.