Your Father's Ghost

I tried—really I did—
To crawl into your life
And make sense of the madness
I was unable to comprehend.
Through the small Southwestern towns,
Across the great state of Texas,
I followed your father's ghost,
Never very far behind.
Traveling east on Interstate 10—
Driving home to Lafayette—
I asked him why . . . why . . . why . . .
But he refused to answer;
His lips, twisted and fixed
On the asphalt ahead of him,
Counting each mile as if it were
The last step towards execution.
And I can well imagine—
The soberest day he ever spent,
Came when they took you away
And gave you another man's name.
He must have been dead, then,
Before the ink dried on the document,
Yet he would have five long years
To test the depth of his sorrow
At the bottom of a bottle.
As for you, sweet girl,
The past is often unkind
To an innocent child
Along for the ride.