
I learned to crack my knuckles
Watching my father,
When he still had hair
Rocking the chair in the bay window
Probably reading Bukowski
Or Goethe,
While I lay on the floor.
And we both wait for my mother to come home.
But we wait for different reasons.
And when finally she came in,
Two hours late,
I ran to her and jumped
As high as my four-year-old legs would take me.
It was only after she yelled in pain
And collapsed
That I noticed the brace around her neck.
And we both cried as she told me her car had been hit by a garbage truck.
But we cried for different reasons.
And I learned an early lesson
In loving with care.
To this day I’m amazed at how many careless garbage truck drivers there are.
And how hard it is to see someone’s pain when you’re excited to love them.