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We're in the kitchen when your father arrives

Angry, but trying to hide it for once

Wanting, what he always does.

You fold your arms and stare him down

While I casually murder some ants

Who don't stop thieving my jam.

'We talked about this, Dad. It's not happening.'

You say like you did a thousand times,

Just in my dreams, and yours.

He sees, somehow, that you mean it

Turns, and walks away

And my helplessness goes with him.

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