It was never a question of existence
I had seen it, it had seen me,
but could I ever posses it?
On the table an unblinking
half of grapefruit looked
like a New England February day
off from school – the decaying slopes
having been deemed too
slippery to drive.
Such weather my father adored
to test in a 2 ton all-steel American
built sled with “Dodge” embossed
on the front. I still associate
bench seats with thrilling
force and the smell of cigars
with men.
His breakfast, like that old royal Dodge,
was a Frankenstein’s monster of reanimated
scraps of other meals slapped into
the body of a bagel to achieve the look
the texture
the feel
Of something, God knows what, that pleased him.
This was for him – running yokes making fingers greasy
and a hot coffee.
It would remain wholly unconnected to the rest of his acts
as a gift bestowed upon him by an ignorance untested.
His morning shower is my crisp clean moment
to delicately crack the surface.
Veritas Ex Logos 