I was raised on The Beatles and
The Rolling Stones and all the Oldies
serenading me through the speakers
on long trips to Gram’s house,
And on dixie cups half-full of beer t
hat I sneaked downstairs
During the late-night news
during your nightly rituals.
I was raised on stockpiling
the pillow mints you saved me
From your many hotel nights
when you’ve been gone on fires
For what felt to me to be
several years at a time.
I lived for your homecomings,
with the smell of deep smoke
Still clinging to your work clothes
when you finally came home to us.
I lived for even your shortcomings,
which always feel to me to be
imperceptibly small.
I was raised on fishing trips
by the lakeshore
where you would
Let me reel in your fish so
that I could always get all the credit.
I was raised on Star Wars
and Star Trek and all the
Friday night Sci-fi movies that we could finally
watch weekly after you retired.
I was raised on our solitary Quincy trips
Where I saw you take better care of your mother
Than anyone else could.
I was raised on the trips you took
That you probably would have never taken
To Arizona and SoCal and Philly
and to a cafe on the side of the road outside of Redding,
after my car crashed into twisted mounds of
metal after I was ran off the road,
the day you thought I might have died.
Because you always knew when I need you.
You still always know when I need you,
Because I always do.