He came home in the evenings
to the joy
Of fatherhood - a scamp who'd made a tower
Of Lego bricks or coloured in a Power
Ranger in Space, who'd look up from his toy
With loving eyes. I'm glad you're back, Big Boy,
His wife would tease, and join him in the shower
For sex. Their love was growing by the hour,
A harmony that nothing could destroy.
Except of course the mirror life he had,
Existing parallel in time and space,
Where impotent, depressed he downs a bottle
Of Malt a day and screws his nerves to face
The shrill unfaithful wife he'd love to throttle,
The foul bed-wetting brat who calls him Dad.
If you've any comments on this poem, K.M.Payne would be pleased to hear from you.