Here I come again

Dad trying to make small talk

In his old, red pick-up truck

I usually ignore it

His bright blue house roaming into view

The step mom waiting for us

My half-sister playing, barefoot in the yard

Me just waiting to leave on Sunday

I trudge up the wood steps

As they moan under my feet

Like always

The cold air of my barron room

Smacking itself across my skin

Leaving goose bumps

Saturdays always went the same

I would hide away until dinner

Anytime I come out I get ignored

Then when the weekend ends

They close my door

As if I was never there

And the room becomes cold again
Just like the feelings for father