Sub-floor

Always the footsteps down the hall

a forewarning mewl of her lover’s call

As the hallway light through the cracked door pours

on the creaking, glossy, wood-planked floors

The name spilling from her lips abhors

“Yes, daddy?”

 

Then the quietness in the dark returns

Little lace duvet that has been down-turned

And the sleep comes, graciously, with ease

when it’s done, and he has been appeased

Yet we still hear God’s voice in night’s breeze

True Daddy.

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