I’m getting old now, nearly as old as you,
& I know you’re dead, any talk we do
is in my dreams or in my head…….
Last night you ran your hand along my face
asked me how I’m doing, if it’s too late
to be the father all girls expect,
to be there sometimes, not on another flight
to a far flung destination where you’re
unobtainable: and your girlfriends hover.
It’s been so many years and boys chase me
as girls did you, I’m a walking replica
of extinct genes…….
the same smooth skin and no grey hair
those undimmed eyes, but daddy now
you seem younger than me….
when you visit sometimes dream to dream.
It really doesn’t make any sense
how being dead you’re just the same,
a figment of memory receptors in my brain……
all darling pilot and freedom fighter,
mostly your own freedom
I haven’t found mine……
You’re so young still………….