a cuff to the ear
      sometimes
                   a gut-punch

a wrench off the couch
      to catch that smudge
                   in the Douglas fir

pine cone or bird
      you ask the morning air
                   nothing answers back

sometimes
      un-breaking news
                   unassuming/unassumed

until attention’s paid
      your father’s black lunch pail
                   leaking lacquer smells

he inhales your mother’s stew
      scarfs down apple pie
                   grabs the Star Tribune

turns on the black and white
      where New York Yankees fight
                   to win it all again

(baseball you laugh
      your love/ his legacy
                   winds up a first-round draft)

you time-out a stretch
      and squint at that bird
                   hung half-way up the tree

it hasn’t moved or sung
      but then a chunky twelve-year-old
                   spins across the room

your father’s teaching you
      to count the steps
                   on wobbly heels

you’ll never wear
      don’t lead he crinkles
                   smile lines and sets the beat

that guides you
      to the grade-school gym
                   where Irish blues/golden hair

invite you to the floor
      the boy’s been told you’d protest
                   he shrugs away when you say yes

enough
      you grab your coffee cup
                   head for the patio

to get a closer look
      pine cone or bird
                   what’s useful to know

when nothing’s just itself
      you like having thought that thought
                   and nudge yourself to jot it down