My khaki shorts
and blue, zapzilla
t-shirt
were no match for your flannel
and blue jeans. My
soft hands and,
casual arm strength
held no sway underneath
your dolly cart,
desk loader and
assortment of
working man’s machinery,
like extra-terrestrials, looking
through,
my unpolished eyes,
still glowing with inexperience.
The baseball cap you wore
had more,
sweat than my entire body
but,
we worked hard,
to afternoon, sunset, and
evening through, and
even though i hindered, more
than helped
you let me lift things,
put my shoulders behind dressers,
kitchen tables and,
crawl into corners,
gathering
carpet squares, record
players, dishware,
tandem bicycles, golf clubs,
and speaker cables;
your life,
now stacked
neck high
against my chest
and arms and thighs
We were strangers,
we were family;
we were
opposites, and harmony;
like trials
considered joy;
you knew,
a thing or two
about having, and
losing, so,
leaving, you made
home, where home
always had been.
You drove trucks,
big trucks, for citrus
growers, and
house movers, but whomever;
I knew,
even before watching you,
could
tuck in and out
of any tight turn;
and back quarter inches
from obstacles, while,
fearing
no heaviness,
darkness, or emptiness,
and that days without
were but days within
to thank god for,
his compassion
to give today,
so when i passed
you’d call out “mike,”
to ask about school
and church,
or, whether my check
engine light was on
and if i needed work.
you told me you were giving double
while trusting god for the harvest,
and i saw eternity
in your sincerity;
in your grill tools,
pool net, and sandaled feet
simplicity,
in your leaf blower,
white shirt, ball-cap
clean trailer, and calm-bodied
surety.
We were strangers,
we were family.
We were
opposites, and harmony,
like trials
considered joy;
you knew
a thing or two
about having, and
losing, so,
leaving, you made
home, where home
should be;
over a meal,
in the bottle of
table wine,
through the resonating
laugher, and
in the second glass,
the mid-evening door knock
half gospel,
half politics,
half nonsense - whole,
we just enjoy each others
presence, talk;
the request for a good movie
the, middle age
and still make your wife laugh;
gladness
for your children’s
happiness, and
in grand babies.
I wrote this on a bus. I wrote it for my wife and kids running through my thoughts, for the ones that run physically through yours; as both stood at a distance, near the hope I’d somehow piece us back together.
