June. Here in this grey, bare classroom
I stare at a baby girl in my fathers arms.
Looking proud, he wears orangerimmed sunglasses
while his baby, looking confused
wears yellowrimmed ones.
In his bright blue shirt, he sits
on a red brick wall surrounded by grass.
He holds that baby tight
for fear she might slip.
Such a change from the man he is now
But through the pride, you can see the immaturity,
the thoughts running through his mind.
Asking how much longer. Dad, I miss you.
I miss the part of you who cared,
but who am I to talk, I run away too?
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