Thank you, Father, for the acoustics lessons
after midnight, when drunken screams carry best,
and for introducing me to the arcana of ballistics
using living room chairs as convenient projectiles,
and for the blunt realisation that a bare fist
could easily punch through a bathroom door,
and for all the belt-enforced ethics classes
correcting my adolescent lapses of judgement.
Only after all that, you never told me
why you brought me here.
hidden pilcrow 