My Father Plays The Morning


A mild chill, flows through the spine like a stick holding
a puppet upright. The morning folds into itself
through the crack of a window, a symphony of cars
rush through rainy roads, a steady hum sloshing –
stress in the air. Floorboards squeak softly, footsteps of
a fathers workaholic coffee filling. Back and forth
back and forth.

Tip taps echo from keyboards of laptops. Emails -
bills to pay, chronic Facebook checking and reporters
shouting on the TV. Politics and war. Reality so unreal
we’re crammed in a corner, between mountain ranges
in the desolate – deserted blue of the arctic. The guilt
of safety, crippling.

In the morning, a father scouts the kitchen for his next
fix. Hands on hips, eyes over reading glasses think,
dishes in the sink, a plastic bag of homemade bread,
Pepsi in the fridge, a screaming pot of coffee, he begins
filling another cup.