dad poem, august 3.

I carry you with me, Mr. MacLean

In a pocket of steel-blue pennies and magic rings

Down dusty Wranglers tucked over your snakeskin boots

And I remember what it was like to be carried by you.

Kept from a windstorm

Rocked and baked and well-groomed, bloomed and safe

With tender roots, unstretched, unsettled

I was a tender plant.

Was there anything more noticeable than you?

You peeled the paint from my windows

and dragged me along in the grass

Like a kid with invisible water skis

Now with you here in my pocket 

There is nothing less detectable than you, it seems

And there is nothing less believable

Than the way things seem to be to me.

I'm carrying you now, Mr. Wisdom

Instead of you carrying me.