You know what's poetry?
The way you hold your coffee mug,
The way your strong hands grip that dainty porcelain.
They way you look while drinking it. You look at me while you drink it. A smile tugging on the rim.
It reminds me of how you hold me.
It also makes me think, you are going to be a good *** father someday. Unlike your own.
Unlike your mother who drank black coffee out of plastic styrofoam cups.
She fed you with silver spoons made from your biclcyle
the bicycle that she sold
to buy your father more beer.