When I came to my friend’s house,
He had insisted on my presence,
A group of familiar faces sat around
A dinner table looking solemn, yet
Smiling encouragingly as one would
To a wayward child

Something about me spending too
Much time alone in my cottage and
Going to places they called ‘dives”.
As they droned on about my drinking
And lack of proper social life, I kept
Thinking about a line in a poem by
Sylvia Plath, only I couldn’t recall
Which one.

Came back to the room by their
Baffled silence; got up and left.
On my way home I remembered.
In my study, at ease with my life
And free of meddlesome people
I reread ‘Daddy.”