The upstairs neighbor played his guitar for our leftover lunch.
pizza and baby carrots
yogurt and canned corn
boardshorts and t-shirts
sandals and smiles
My little girl looked up through the spaces between the roof lines and smiled and said, ‘Michael.’
‘Yes.’ I smiled, and imagined I closed my eyes.
I let the weight of my head roll back on the chair
and tried to make out the tune in my mind with my fingers on the strings of my guitar…
“It takes a worried man, to play a worried song…”
That wasn’t it but it’s about all I can play.
That, and a little Danny Boy.
My daughter laughs with chocolate milk on her chin
the music fades
and in the nearest city south
you can buy a girl in the Seattle Weekly.
2 in 100 have shared my story
and my heart sinks because I know you are
Moms and Dads
with sons and daughters
I don’t want you to read my story,
I want you to do something.