Nothing Matters, It’s All Good
My father tells me to switch off the lights when I don’t need them.
That the best advice he has for me
Is to invest early and never overeat.
Nowadays, when he moves around the house,
I can no longer tell his footsteps apart from mine.
How do these poets pack so much hurt in so little space?
How do I row the boat in the eye of the storm?
If my father knew the answers,
He wouldn’t sigh every time he breathed.
I want him to sit next to me,
Talk like he means it.
To tell me that nothing matters, that it’s all good.
That green and blue are the same for the Japanese.
That stars are nothing but dying light.
To tell me that the road has potholes,
And we couldn’t pay for the suspension.
I want to know his first crush, his biggest regret,
His salary and his favourite drink.
There is so much to do;
I’m afraid that the roses will die before we can stop and smell them.
