The Ninth Step

Summer dries up and 
we're still driving
His hands grip down tighter
toward work 
and that office we share
The weather darkens
his face and the clouds
sunken and tired 
(we ride)
He takes in air
a breath
through clenched teeth
then speaks
"I don't know 
if this is possible
but I wanted to ask 
is there any way,"
his profile collapsing next to me,
"you can forgive 
all those things I did 
when you were small,
helpless and desperate
for that father I never was?"