You breeze through our doors
like you belong here,
with your red lipstick
and high heels.
Your hairstyle’s too modern;
you’re not eighteen anymore.
Sorry, hun;
you’re forty-two.
Forty-two, yes I know,
because Daddy Dearest always tells me
how you were a grade apart in high school.
You were the freshman,
he was the sophomore.
He always tells me
how he never knew
anything about you.
Then he met my mom,
got married,
two kids,
divorced.
But fatefully, you reunited –
oh yes, so fatefully –
and Cupid struck.
The lonely wallflower,
meets high school MVP.
Together after so many years
of searching the waters
for ‘other fish in the sea’.
Now Mom’s out of the picture.
It’s just ‘Poppa Bear’
and the Replacement.
One big happy family.
Right?
Wrong.
