Baby, it's cold outside.

I look at every homeless guy in the street to double check,...that it isn't my father.
We haven't spoken since...since I don't know when.maybe it's a month...maybe it's two.I wrestle with this old habit of guilt, feeling what other people should feel.trying to make myself cold inside, at least to him.
But then I see him, hunched in the cold.with that same face full of sadness.that same look in his eyes as I have..But...then.this is just my imagination.I don't even know if he's still there,opposite parliament on his little bit of pavement.I don't want to speak to him.
So I wait for him to contact me,with the next accusation,the next demand...
I try not to let my heart be crushed.I ignore this squeezing feeling.
this tightness in my chest.
but this shadow decends across my path.