Mom reported she pooped out a little woman (a joke from whatever stupid show she was watching a couple of nights ago) and Cynde moved to get her back to Upstate Hospital. On Daddy duty, I had a poem to write, simply by recording the moments as they are right now.
Thursday Morning, April 2, 2026
On his planet of animals,
River Monsters replace the red-head
reporting from News Channel 12…
…the one who smears her
eyebrows with red-velvet frosting
and discusses birthright citizenship
& presidents.
We’re siting by the bay window
waving at people who drive by…
…perhaps those he once knew,
with busy lives
and places to be.
I did not know a Westinghouse t.v.
could reach volume 52…
but I do now,
as my mother watches the ways Robins build nests
on his once-used fishing poles in the garage
from her Ring-Doorbell camera on an iPad —
the same birds that have been shitting
on my new car…. the wilderness
trekking across state lines.
Why do I have to shower,
he complains. No one else does.
Apple fritters and pies
bought by my sister as a
bribe to shave him.
A mirror, chapstick, and salt & pepper shakers
sit on stained napkins besides him -
- ones with therapeutic
directions listing all the ways
he’s supposed to get physical…
his warehouse for plucked nose hairs & nail clippings,
a flashlight, an unplugged clock, and the plastic
bags of pennies, nickels, and dimes he sometimes sorts.
Right now, he’s petting my dog & wondering what day it is…
wondering if it is time for him to take out the garbage…
or to lick more sugar from his dentures
he's pulled form his mouth.
