Sitting in his chair,
Mixing, Mixing, Mixing,
Changing the drinks,
Bringing in new bottles at 2am,
Stuffed behind bags in the garage.
Hoping he will make it.
Here he comes trying to walk through the living room and into the kitchen,
Let me run upstairs to get my sister,
He looks unsteady,
He’s going to fall,
Hope mom’s cousin didn’t hear him.
He has fallen,
We are scared Mom might get up,
Now we are really going to hear it,
We are frustrated because he won’t get off the floor.
How can I respect a man who can’t pick himself up,
How do I learn to respect myself when he is my model.
Is this where I lost my self esteem?
Maybe I can run back to the kitchen and scrape it up off the floor.
You’re my father, we have a guest in the house and you are so drunk you can’t even stand,
Let alone talk to us,
We are your children,
We are your gifts,
We are supposed to look up to you,
Now we look down on you.
What do we do?
We don’t know what to do?
We see a man on the floor.
Is he our father?
Or is he your father?