Sometimes

Sometimes,

No matter how old you are.

You just need your Daddy.

Not your father,

Who hounds you to brush your teeth

And makes you go to bed on time,

Not your Dad,

Who smiles when he sees you,

And holds your hand when you cross the street.

Not your Sire,

Who had an ill-advised tryst,

With a college girlfriend,

And created you by accident.

But your Daddy.

The warm arms you fell asleep in,

When dinners at restaurants ran later than expected.

The sound of his voice, bouncing around his chest,

Muffled but comforting.

Your Daddy,

Who sometimes on back roads,

Would pull you across the bench seat

Of his cherished, but beat to shit car,

Into his lap so you could steer.

Your Daddy,

Who laughed so loud the room would fill with it

Like a balloon the instant before it bursts.

Like nothing could ever be so funny.

Your Daddy,

Who read you bedtime stories,

Who sang silly songs in the car,

Who did the best voices.

But Fathers,

Dads,

Sires,

Daddies…

They all die.

And the source of all my joy as a child died with him.

And sometimes.

I just need my Daddy.