I remember every time we went to see my dad
my mom listened to Mary J. Blidge
looked out to the desert
and the white windmills wondering why
we had to drive so far.
I didn’t mind ,
I liked long trips in the car and I
liked seeing my dad more.
We would only have about an hour or so with him
but it was worth it because
for that hour he could be the father that I had only dreamed.
Because when he was there he was forced to be clean.
Every time , my mom blasted ‘No More Drama’ like
an anthem that would save her from the abusive cycle once again.
Maybe this time it’ll work.
Every time he’d be so proud of showing us off to his friends,
and I couldn’t understand for the longest why
they all wore the same blue pants and light blue shirt.
But I reasoned that blue was my moms favorite color and I thought he wore it for her.