Dad Poem by Matt Render

Saturday morning
Here comes dad
Down the stairs
Tanned and muscles budging
Through an old white t shirt
He pours orange juice
He stokes my hair
He clears his throat
The house shakes

The rumbling engine
Of his red convertible
As we venture to a diner
On the other side of the earth
And the sky is salty
as his muffed hairdo
You can still see last night's moon
The ocean breeze air
is complimented
by his aftershave.

His elbows propped on the table
forearms scarred and hairy.
He taps his sweet-and-low before opening
two packets at the same time
Every sip of coffee is followed
by a clanging of the mug against the saucer.
He takes his eggs over easy
There is a pool of yolk that emerges like lava.
It continues running, eventually spilling
Across the table
There is not enough burnt toast
to absorb all of it
My mouth is stuck together with cream cheese

The cheque.
The smile from the waitress
Another earthmoving
clearing of the throat
A toothpick for him
and one for me
I chew on it and get splinters in my gums
The blood will mix well
with the candy bar he promised
He holds my hand as we walk
through the parking lot
The day hasn't even begun
I get a soda pop
and a chocolate
Dad gets a stick
Of spearmint gum
He rips half a piece and gives it to me
We're back in the car
Popping cracking and blowing our gum
together loudly
Driving in silence.