Young, old love

Your father did not like me at first,
enough to mutter hello’s
and shrug that I was pretty,
but I just know he did not like me.
He grew to, though,
and eventually, he probably called me
“baby” just as much
or more than you,
and we exchanged glances
when you were in a bad mood,
and we’d laugh
and one day share soju when you
were not home,
and he’d tell me not to go a…