Valet

Valet

It’s running up the search engine; this delay must be 
mechanical, in links of tissue made in the sinuous hardware
in the sky, above our ground, in single giant story buildings 
that look from spy or space movies, to be filled meaningfully 
with switches head to toe. Articles, that must read worse 
on turning paper, unroll the best they can, but recall
a crude and hapless push and pull, grinding a dancefloor
at the prom, proud and smooth in its considerable profanity. 
There, too, the author chaperones, but steals and sniffs 
out of a hip flask, and turns out to be the favorite dad 
for all the times he’s left the liquor cabinet unlocked
on a Friday night. It’s why everyone sleeps over and sneaks 
in and out the window. They’re kids, believing their boredom 
surmises the problem of the world. 
          But everything is trying to be for them, 
so they are not to blame. The author makes and raises them, 
disciplines or doesn’t, terrified I assume, of patricide.



[12/8/20...]