Our Father: letting us have it at full volume
Because we’ve let him down,
Telling us what is and what isn’t,
Aching because our failures hurt him
But waiting for Sorry, dad so we can start again,
Have another go.
Our Father: saying: It’s time you tried to do that yourself.
Not wanting to let us do it, knowing we won’t do it as well as him
But biting his tongue, giving us a chance, calling it World.
Our Father: aching at the distance
We’ve put between ourselves and him,
That lost look in his eyes,
Even though he’s not moved, even though he’s not lost.
Like a shepherd
Who’s been asked to hold back and let his sheep wander,
Knowing that he will be out at some unearthly hour of the night
Rounding up, sorting out, patching wounds, making safe again.
Our Father: brow furrowed
In anger or prayer or frustration … or all three,
Looking for ways to say: It doesn’t have to be this way,
It’s not obligatory that you should be
Stubborn, troublesome, surly, argumentative,
Nit-picking and downright rude;
You could just talk to me just as I long to find some way …
… any way, to talk to you.