On Father's Day (Poetry)

I never really knew you —
us living in the same house doesn’t count
for we were kept apart —
the boundaries of silence held fast
while the little voice inside
whispered on — is wishing still
that we had talked.
Maybe we would have understood each other,
liked each other,
even shared a time or two
we could look back on now, and smile...

It’s far too late and you are old
and still the stranger,
virtually unknown for all these years
and, more lately, never seen —
what’s there to miss?
Perhaps nothing, but a faint regret
we never found a way of being close
lingers and each Father’s Day
the sentimental part of me looks hard
and questions all my reasons
why I cannot send a card.