Disappointment

A stranger sits in my
living room,
his body almost lost in
a Lazy-Boy.
Do I know him?
Not really.
He was a bridge
that always crumbled
beneath me.

And there he sits
a cloud of addiction
surrounding him,
becoming him.
Tapping a cigar
into a plastic ashtray
almost as superficial as
he is.

Night turns to morning
as he stays
reminiscing about
the good ol' days.
His rough voice
reminding me of other
late nights;
with kisses crimson
on his overcoat
and alcohol fresh on
his breath.
On those nights
I thought
that the world might end.
Who is he?
My father.