haven't seen my dad in almost
three months, so he came over
to talk about the weeds
and the dandelions
the lilacs that i haven't
planted and the creepers
tangling around the
fence posts,
he touches the leaves
softly like he does with
most things, circles the
yard and scuffs the gravel
with the heel of his boot
inspecting for the usual--

How've ya been? and I
nod because my dad hasn't
known a single thing 'bout
my life since I was 16

i'm getting a dog. I say, holding
my hands out from here to there,
half Shepard and somethin' else,

i still expect repercussions for doing
things on my own but he just smiles
and goes on about dog doors and
how i still don't have a gun in my house

branson was saying i should think about not
gettin' a  .22 and he pulled out
his glock for me to feel per the norm

where've you been?
around.
how's work? while i pull the slide back
and slip out of my sneakers
you know how you walk into a room
and they treat you different?

He's leaving now, his gun back in the holster
holds out his arms for a hug.

they don't like you much, huh?
no. and i laugh, to stop from cryin' and
mask the shake in my voice
it's alright, though, pays the bills and stuff.

i have no desire to tell him about the
things that have been happening lately
about Matt and the bars and the trip
to Walgreens for a two minute test
i want to ask him why he didn't
tell me more about boys and men
when I was little but that's a
silly question when I'm grown

we never tell each other love you
we just go, so he leaves,
his bikes packed in the bed
down 19th, truck grumbling
the way they all do.