what he doesn't know...
and in the great blackout of 2003
I’m huddled around a candle
eating strawberry shortcake in my boxers
before the whipped cream goes bad
while you’re with him –
trapped with the beautiful excuse of
low light, and locked doors, and a
city-wide bewilderment.
your dad and his brothers
off to that horseshoe thing down south (or was it yodeling?)
with Uncle Carl picking up the bronze
just for showing up.
the same moment I’m thinking I’ll disinfect
the fridge – and start over –
with a new bulb we’ll trust goes off
behind closed doors.
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