My Father’s Late Nights

Flipping between Leno and Letterman, 
ironing his shirts in his boxers 
by the glow of far-away soundstages,

periodically walking a few feet
from the board to the bed 
to close my eyes with his hand
and tell me there’s a hundred bricks
all over my body – Your arms
are feeling verrrry heavy

and suddenly they do, 
overcome with comforting weight
as I listen to the cymbal crash
and the crowd laughing 

and my dad uttering a chuckle 
every now and then, between 
wrinkles becoming more permanent
the harder and harder he presses.


Back to the Review >