I texted my dad today
ten years dead. Dad, I wrote,
they’re boating the bay
heeled over hard, and wet.

He didn’t reply.
I was not surprised.

The arguments went back
for decades before he died,
were never repaired,
even if tried,

even when I admired
the things that he loved best.
Especially then. A man
had the right to love

without interference, from even
his own flesh and blood.

It was better to love
opposite things. Then
we could argue, man to man,
which was something we both loved
together.

August 23, 2012