Our dads were interviewing for desk jobs
in cut-off shorts
They were at other kids’ Little League games
casting hexes
And on crowded beaches they took swings at any seagulls
who dared to snatch at family-sized bags of Doritos
Our dads were driving through deserts
in search of wild peyote
They wandered, vastly confused,
in over-lit grocery stores
And watched young couples eat
through restaurant windows
Our dads memorized the facial tics
of Diane Keaton
They scratched tax advice into the walls
of shabby barns
Sprinkled their beard trimmings
in the police commissioner’s pool
And drank Peppermint Schnapps
in haunted houses
They were humming the James Bond theme
while waiting for a manager to open the front door
of a local Wendy’s
The pale morning pink peeked beneath the red braids of Wendy,
a fictional character, a daughter, painted on
the plate-glass window
Our dads were there to see that light
and they were adjusting their crumpled fedoras
Our dads were being jealous
of big houses
They were scolding drivers
for not using their blinkers
And they yammered on and on
about the plight of the modern American farmer
Our dads were smoking weed
by the municipal pool
They were at the racetrack, twisting programs in their fists,
but there were no races
And they tucked innocuous bootknives
in the sides of their tube socks
The bootknives slid down our dads’ tube socks,
again and again
Our dads were picking the neighbor’s tulips
in the middle of the night
And highlighting passages
from old high school yearbooks
They made tombstone rubbings
of dead dads they once knew
And hit on a woman they thought was Halle Berry
at an airport bar
Our dads were flexing their triceps
in full-length mirrors
They were practicing cooing
They were harmonizing,
all of them, everywhere, altogether
They were peeing on the wind