preface:

the salesman on the road earned his right to be a distant entity.

we never went camping or bowling.

we never played catch in the backyard during the season

and we didn’t go fishing. ever, or had a serious father son talk.

he didn't introduce me to the proper handling

of household tools and I don’t think he had any to speak of,

except I do remember a rusty toolbox under the sink

not much larger than a lunch box, so rare that I wrote

a whole poem about its contents.

(a broken, one-claw hammer, a screwdriver, a yellowed-

with-age bandaid plastic strip, a set of pliers, its handles

wrapped in electrical tape.)

I don’t remember him yelling. I’m not saying he didn’t yell.

I’m saying I don’t remember him yelling.

but he did advise me to "choke up" when I was playing ball

in the name of our neighborhood church.

he wanted the bat to make contact. but of the things my father

didn’t do with me, I’ve also not done with my son.

the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.