|Father never took slow showers,
nor did I ever ask him about his dreams
between bites of raisin toast
glazed with Skippy peanut butter.
He never went religious, not even after Lisa;
I often fell asleep with his Twin Cities voice
on the radio, statically, like grains of salt,
selling London Luggage hand bags
or used cars from towns named Cadott
or Chippewa Falls, towns that have supplied
the world with cozy children for generations.
I considered him a genius in our city
by the river near the clumps of birch.