Untitled 9.21.11

My father is not a good man.
So how should I pity him?
As memory, as a mourner
Pities the dead. As something separate,
A discrete sympathy, disjointed from
Personal experience. His parenthood
Purpled but never came to bloom.
Never was that love full and fit to bursting,
Radiating, positively glowing,
Burning like a fire in his gut.
So maybe I should remember him
As a lover remembers affections
Never fully formed; as a promise,
Unuttered, but seriously contemplated.