An old bound book kind of brown
Or maybe like the side of a ship bound somewhere-not here
Maybe a vest buttoning down a chest
With the pride and dignity to stop a fight or calm a storm.
My action figure hero standing
Behind a guitar and on top of a world
The stage of the play
I’m not yet staring in
And sometimes that cigarette smell draws me to you.
And sometimes is always evening and trying to stay awake
To find out which leather polish you keep
In the cabinet of your unopened rusty bathroom sink.
Wash your face to begin again.
Sandpaper taste of your cheek on my shoulder again.
Where are the couches and tall-backed study room chairs
Filled with the fiction of family man fatherhood cares.