I remember every time we went to see my dad

my mom listened to Mary J. Blidge

while I

looked out to the desert

and the white windmills wondering why

we had to drive so far.

I didn’t mind ,

I liked long trips in the car and I

liked seeing my dad more.

We would only have about an hour or so with him

but it was worth it because

for that hour he could be the father that I had only dreamed.

Because when he was there he was forced to be clean.

Every time , my mom blasted ‘No More Drama’ like

an anthem that would save her from the abusive cycle once again.

Maybe this time it’ll work.

Every time he’d be so proud of showing us off to his friends,

and I couldn’t understand for the longest why

they all wore the same blue pants and  light blue shirt.

But I reasoned that blue was my moms favorite color and I thought he wore it for her.