drive, papa

His daddy comes home, tonight,
which is a good thing
for
everyone but
me. I liked being a
dad, again, not that I’m not,
still, but
not in those same ways, of course, the
ways of wonder
and
discovery
and unconditional love and
intense discussion highlighted
by a
lack of
vocabulary on both parts –
him with me and
me with him. But
the process, even when
consternating,
is
joyful. And light.
And happy.
And gay.
“Drive, papa.”
“I have to wait for
green. Green means
go.”
He knows that,
now. I
taught him.