My father was always absent
Sailing rudderless on the great ocean of daydreams,
Seeking safe harbour,
Solace in a tart’s embraces
And drinking deep
Off the fountain of oblivion.

I loved my father
But treated him with contempt
When a young man who tried, for a while,
To be righteous
As everybody else in our street.
Now that I’m old
I realise that he was a poet
Who never got around to write
What was in his heart.
My mirror tells me
That I look like my father now,
But I was lucky I left the fishing port up north
And struck gold on warmer shores.

My family in Norway
Is as contemptuous of me
As I used to be of the old man,
But my celebrant in the mirror tells me
To go on living
And don’t give up hope
As he once did!
So every night
I rise my glass of wine
And rejoice the inheritance given me.