for now

Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge

My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?

What he doesn't know
is that when we're together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand

- Robert Hershon

I'm sure that one day I will feel like this about our children. Although if any of them have a receding hairline, it's doubtful I will want to be seen with them in public. *

For now, my leisurely reading has become splintered; only time for tidbits here and there. Poetry has provided an appealing marriage of convenience. I grew tired of seeing the same six books on my bedside stand, unread. I also sit in the poetry section at the library where I study. One day I grabbed Billy Collins during a break. Then Updike. Even Amber Tamblyn. It provides a mental shot of espresso on days so often chained to statistical models. So, for now my poetry fix does the trick. Norman Maclean can wait.

For now, all of our children hold our hands willingly when crossing the road...except for Ava. She views this gesture as an insult to her independence as a human being and her strength as a woman. Yesterday as I was drinking from a mug she walked up and asked, "Coffee?" "No," I replied, "Cafix. Want some?" "Umm, no thanks," she offered, as she exited the kitchen, purse in hand, sunglasses on, really big shoes on her feet.

Please choose wisely
I say absent-mindedly
It is not so trivial

My daughter, whose first haircut
was imposed upon her several weeks ago
at the ripe age of 29 months, says
Umm, toast, not cereal.

What she doesn't know
is that when we're together, when we get
to a lull in conversation
I sometimes want to discuss
existentialism
(or why Mormons don't drink coffee)

For now, my sentimentality as a father resides in the future, not the past.




* Just kidding, bald friends.