I wear a blindfold.  I look my age.  I push an empty wheelchair and with it map the way to your room.  I go without.  my children rebel.  my children rescue their behaviors for later use.  I tell my oldest she was my idea of a first thought.  I tell her in a dream.  I have a disorder in which I add to everything an ‘s’.  a second disorder in which I taste chalk when your father eats it.  my mother is a two-man show.  says for example by god I’m next to jesus.  I hold her hat.  she looks into it this time and the next longer than the last.  the rabbit doesn’t make it.  my boys enter a room that’s been moved.  my father keeps me young.