The dad my young children will remember
hasn’t arrived yet.
He is still hobbling along,
favoring his right knee,
a head of swooped feathers bobbing
with each gained moment,

for he will be very 40,
so naturally it will take him time
to get here—
seven years as of today.

The present dad
who is now in office
will retire from his post
largely forgotten.
Not much of him
will haunt the halls
of his kids’ minds
hosting star-swept carnivals.

A scuff on a wall,
as if a dresser was moved,
will only remain,
making brighter the wonder
bordering his smudge of shadow.

---

By Richard Glinnen