Daniel

Daniel

You were due this day
twenty two years ago.
Three more days and
the energy level in the
world quadrupled, and
entropy was up a decade
manifested in a small apartment
overflowing with baby
paraphernalia, an extra
set of grandparents. We were
two exhausted parents. Now
bikes, battered travel bags,
a dog eared copy of On the Road,
flamboyant high topped red leather
combat boots, lost duvet covers,
your various accoutrements.
You’ve tried to eclipse your
sister over the years, but she’s
gotten a lot stronger.
I’m still waiting for you to
pick up the shower curtain
and used paintbrushes you used
for your last artistic creation.
It may be awhile.