Mary, Seventeen

Michael Dennis Browne

I love how real you are
("Dad, do you have
a couple of bucks for breakfast?").
And once I dreamed
that you and I were watching
a man in a wheelchair
(wearing an orange jumpsuit)
receive a visit —
was he in jail? — from his wife,
and you whispered,
"after she's gone, maybe we could
shampoo his hair for him."

On windy days, on sunny,
I think of you,
"we deserve our kind of days"
(your saying),
and now comes my turn to say,
in the shade of shaking trees,
"Your day, your day,"
feeling luckier
than I could ever have dreamed
in this life, or deserve,
to be your Dad.