That Day I Took From Him My Good Name

I once stole from my father.

I didn't take his money,
or anything he owned.

I robbed him of his trust in me,
although he never knew.

He hasn't missed it yet,
as far as I can tell.

He goes on the same,
expecting that call at eleven.

But every time I see him
I see disappointment
reflected back from his
grey eyes.

I put it there myself,
expecting to be caught.

What will he think,
when he finds out?

I'll never tell him
exactly what it is I did.

But he'll find out soon,
regardless,
when he passes into the dark.

And one day,
when I follow,
he'll either forgive me
or he won't.