Dear Dad

Now that you are dead

I thought it time to have a chat

That chat

You know, the one that ends with

you owning up

 

Dear Dad

Your words of apology

I dreamt last night or some other week

Are refused

It’s too easy to say them

You’re not forgiven

 

Dear Dad

The trauma you delivered like a postman

Far outweighed the life I had

When I escaped the brunt of your torment

It was sublimely peaceful

Once you’d gone

 

Dear Dad

In Australia the colours are green and red and black

It’s the gum trees and the kookaburras

Only natives

which flourish, which truly belong

and live well here

 

Dear Dad

I’m hoping that purgatory is for left footers

Who fall off the rails

Claiming atheism doesn’t count

Once you’ve been baptised a catholic

Hopefully, there’s no escape

 

Dear Dad

Now that you are dead

the words of apology and

the trauma you delivered like a postman

removed me from belonging anywhere

So I changed my scenery, got me a new landscape

 

Dear Dad

In your absence, I took up Taoism,

got me a new passport,

rented a post box and started recording

every conversation I have.

Thanks