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.
— KG NEWMAN
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