One for the old fucker

I thought I’d pour half a beer
in to a small glass
and make a toast to the old fucker.
It’s 00:00, the very beginning of 16.10.2012
Three years since the old man croaked
the students outside shout loudly
and I take it as a mark of disrespect
for a dead man
just as much as it is for the living.

By the time she was through with him
there was toss all of him left,
but he still wouldn’t stand for a group
of shit eating kids
who can’t handle their booze
keeping everyone awake
with the noisy produce of their absent minds.

My new therapist told me something today;
it’s no big deal, but it reiterated something for me:
Between him, his wife and my mother
they made a bit of a fucking mess of me…
I’ve got nineteen fifty minute sessions left
in which to iron that mess out,
but that’s not going to stop me
from raising a glass to my old man.

I can’t say I miss him:
I wasn’t allowed anything to miss,
but having a chance to know him
might have helped me out a bit…
Well, never mind...
That's not how it panned out.

If everything I believe in is wrong
and your somewhere reading this
I love you Dad,
but most of that
is because I have to.