Dad, Happy, Summer, July 1973

It was one of those family photographs

You know the kind

Square

With a white border

The edges Tattered and yellowing

Framing your father

Younger

Caught between moves

In mid-expression

In perfect focus

Not a single hair blurred

The time around him

Captured too

In the long

Patterned collar

Of his shirt

It was one of  those family photo's

You know the kind

Stand-out

Infinitely intriguing

For capturing that

Which cannot be seen

And revealing everything

Which isn't there

Your father

Younger

In crystal clear focus

And to his side

Nine tenths out of shot

Your mother

Her left arm

And a strip of hair

And nothing more

It was one of those family photographs

You know the kind

Taken in colours

Which look older than black and white

Glossy

Your father

(and a streak of your mother)

As young as you are now

Caught forming a smile

Wearing an itchy suit jacket

Over an open necked shirt

With era defining collars

A mystery

The sharpness confusing

As at that time

You didn't yet exist

And that's hard to comprehend

Especially in such high definition

It was one of those family photo's

You know the kind

A defining photo

On a special occasion

Your father
Younger

Maybe graduating
From a government run course

Or being released
From prison

Or winning
A court case

And it makes you peer in

Squint

Searching for clues

Of yourself
When you was dead
Non-existent

And on the back
There's antique handwriting

In blue
A little run

You know the type

Your mother's writing

Those same slanted letters

That got you out of PE

Not so long ago:

Dad looking happy

Labour Day

Kentish Town

July

Summer 
1973

Mum shying behind

Bad hair day

4 months pregnant with Sue

Pensive

Wondering what the future holds

If 'Dad' will make '74

The year he promised

And stop drinking

And lying

And gambling

And cheating

And lashing out

Whenever things don't go his way –

Which is always

Wearing that cheap 'Italian Shirt'

The one his sister bought him

Blood still on the cuff

(Right)

From where he'd belted me

Earlier that day

Two weeks before the miscarriage

That kick in the stomach

Which broke my heart

And left me feeling 
Like a murderer

Blaming myself

Him blaming me too

Saying:

You know what I'm like after a drink

You shouldn't have pushed me

Why did you push me?

Look what you went and done!

Being rammed into the bathroom door

Cracking my head

And falling unconscious

Because I couldn't stop crying

Because something had died inside me

Yeah

London

July

1973

Dad

Happy

Before I put on weight

Became “Fat and lazy”

“An embarrassment!”

No longer changing my clothes

A kick here and a punch there

Spit in my face

For wearing the same underwear

Two days in succession

Or accidentally

Falling asleep

With my legs open

“Sex between cellulite”

That's what he said

Couldn't “stand the sight of it”

Which made the rapes

Even more incomprehensible

And the forthcoming pregnancy

A permanent and bitter reminder

Of domestic hell

And HE

Your Dad

Who could no longer

Fit into his suit

Or much else

A dirty belly

that hung over soiled y-fronts

And that's how I saw him

Until he died

A dirty, foul, disgusting beast of a man

Woman's real enemy

You know the type:

Square

The edges tattered

A yellowing white border

Your Father

Not a hair out of focus

In colours older than black and white

Caught between acts

Revealing all that is hidden

With ink on the back

Blue

Your mothers words

Dad looking happy
Kentish Town

Labour Day

Summer

July 1973

You know the type.