Father Playing A Guitar

This smile I never saw before: as if the lips
Are keeping a secret to itself. It makes both eyes
Rise up at the edges, pushing the brows into
Gentle arches. Wide forehead is out of place
In this young body but the hands, the hands
Curve around the guitar and the fingers
Curl over strings in a most familiar manner
Such that I could almost hear the music. As if
Everything in this picture--the vines, the dog
Lying on the ground in a half O,
The wide, palm-shaped leaves, you--
Are wonders that I could see and touch again.

Who am I to think I’m so special?

“It all ends in tears anyway.”

- Jack Kerouac

We take what we can, those few moments of passion

Leaving our children at home with Legos and biscuits

And running to the mall to get his favorite sandwich

And hard drink, investing more than our hearts

Into Facebook relationships. Waiting at 4:00 a.m.

For some activity so we could say Hello, pretend

We just woke up and are bright-eyed when the truth

Is that we are loving with one hand over our hearts,

The other stroking his ear, his penis,

His ego. Like fragile porcelain dolls our eyes

Are wide and hopeful in the beginning, and even

Right before it ends. Even when we realize

We are not named: No labels, no nothing.

And yet when it all comes crashing down we just

Cry in tiny, painful trickles.

Let us love when the time is right. Oh, how we know

In our most secret hearts, how we know we deserve

So much better. In the meantime, we heal our wounds with

Love songs, belted loudly, inside lonely KTV rooms

Somewhere in this noisy, dirty city, full of double-dealing

boys. Boys, really. Only with beer bellies and salt

And pepper hair. My stomach turns.

So go ahead and chug down your Smirnoff, you beautiful,

Luminous shock of a woman. Wear your attitude like a blazing

Crown. You are very special. Light up the room

With your magnificence. You rock and you roll.

Janis Joplin cannot hold a candle to you.