my father after he hit his head

She tucks a dead cigarette

between her lips. He looks

the other way, asks, will you

marry me?

She takes out her lighter,

pats his greying head, says,

eat your pizza, boy.

At the far corner of a barber shop,

the crumbs of his beard tossed

across his parted lips, he asks,

will you marry me?

The razor stumbles against

a bare patch of skin. He grips

his knee, the parting slowly closes.

Then the smell of cookies baking, he grins

as if he heard a yes,

hands him three dollars before asking,

where is your manager?

A knowing glance, a tired tug

from his daughter, Dad, stop.

His animals know him,

the tilt of his sorrow, the loose laces

of his search, the green-brown eyes.

Chickens, geese, rabbits,

ducks, cats, they run to him. And, as if

to ask, he kneels against the ground,

grasps the wide neck of his billy goat,

No more, he whispers, no more.