Every morning Dad comes home
Exhausted and shattered by his work
The money wouldn’t be asked more.
Fumblingly his hands in the kitchen
Quick cooking for breakfast as dinner,
Quick eating but no one asking for.
Loneliness in a cramped space
Tears suspended in reddish eyes.
He wonders why he is here.
American life, his dream used to be.
Gently Dad stirs up his child,
In his usual intense voice.
Grumpy and sluggish, she arises
Busy grooming hair and eye lining
Scolding back in foreign English
“Dad I missed the school bus”.
Teenagers the difficult age
To raise and love in a blunt place
Where respect is only in retrospect,
And it is outdated too.