I love you, I told him
Meals on wheels didn’t come ’til three o’clock
He’s pissed
I love you too, he said, trying to swallow it back down
*
Rewind, thirty years:
Leisure suit and perm aside,
Dad’s never changed
Trouble with women, he says, they just want to be happy
He never remarried
Thanksgiving with my Mom—Christmas with Dad
I came home after college
He was an old man
*
He reads glossy magazines
Schools me on pop culture
On his 78th birthday he asked for Moby
Though lately he prefers punk
When I was young, I had this dream my dad was shot
in the chest with a cannonball
He came home in this dream; I could see right through
the big round hole
The wound was clean, as if he were made of cookie dough
I couldn’t bring myself to touch him
*
Gave my dad a hug the other day
We repaired his iTunes
Picked over cold lunchmeat
Snapped a few pictures, said goodbye
Three days later—snail-mail from Dad
Scrawled across the back of a carefully folded article
About Balinese Hip Hop:
I love you, too
Published in little bang, Volume 1, Number 1, 2008
