When I lived with my
father and brother I
used to wake up at five
and make my fathers
lunch.
Tucking it away in his
big thermos lunch box,
the one all fathers in
steel toes carry.
His 7-11 big gulp cup
filled with ice tea, made
music with his keys as
he walked out the door.
I would see him off
before falling back
asleep on the couch,
happy to have taken
care of my father on his
way to take care of us.
Cadence Collective: Long Beach Poets 