My dad takes me to the hospital on his bike.
It’s icy and he wears his sheepskin gauntlets
and I’m grateful to shelter behind him
secure in his familiar gruff intolerance.
This is not the first time he’s taken TOIL for me
and his frustration radiates through his layers
but this two-of-us space is still delicious,
still precious for its rare warmth.
And he parks, and we dismount like John Wayne,
and the wall of his leather back takes the lead
as I stride into outpatients in his impatient wake,
making demands for his boy from the nervous staff
and taking relief from the update on my progress
and for the scar that gives me some hope of distinctiveness
and a source of stories for years to come.
Stories with my dad.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 11:58 AM UTC
My dad takes me to the hospital on his bike.
It’s icy and he wears his sheepskin gauntlets
and I’m grateful to shelter behind him
secure in his familiar gruff intolerance.
This is not the first time he’s taken TOIL for me
and his frustration radiates through his layers
but this two-of-us space is still delicious,
still precious for its rare warmth.
And he parks, and we dismount like John Wayne,
and the wall of his leather back takes the lead
as I stride into outpatients in his impatient wake,
making demands for his boy from the nervous staff
and taking relief from the update on my progress
and for the scar that gives me some hope of distinctiveness
and a source of stories for years to come.
Stories with my dad.
