Every time you came home,

from long days of work

that went late into the night,

or business trips lasting

four days to three weeks,

I’d hug you,

as tight as I could,

because I thought maybe

if I held on tight enough,

you’d feel my emptiness,

feel the weight

of the absence of a father,

and never be able

to leave me again.

Why,

did you always,

fucking,

leave?