|
The Lord sits with me out in back and watches me
drink Miller High Life. I think about questions I will
not ask him and he shakes his head gently and smiles
a little. We watch birds flying low like leaves
lifting out of the fields. The cat lounges idly beside us,
toothing out the gravel from her paws. The Lord
watches her small movements for awhile. He asks me
to read him the Jack Gilbert poem again, and waits
as I flip to the dog-eared page; patient as I wait for
the stable breath it will take to actually finish it this time.
|
