My Girls - a memory poem

My Girls

The car arrives
I see Amy in the back,
Ashleigh in the front passenger seat,
I see them get out
Hugs all round.

We adjourn to my motel room,
a cup of coffee, tea for one
the TV off, radio too
and for one and one half hours
we shoot the breeze,
like old times.

Except they're now all young adults
finding their way in the world,
telling me about modelling assignments,
painting, photography, poetry,
Ash sits numbly playing with the necklace
I had given her at the start of proceedings,
thumbing through the CD's I'd also passed on to her.

I hear about boyfriends and friends,
about crystals, stoneware,
the coming adventures, music,
I also hear about other things from their mother,
I gave her money for petrol, it costs to drive
in the city, oh yeah, the city...

I left it seven years ago
and it's still a bustling haphazard monster,
the amount of traffic stifling to enduring minds,

they leave, all too soon, I wave
probably the last time I see them
for a year at least,
but once a year is better
than a father that doesn't care.