MY THREE SONS
Are tapping wing-tipped feet.
What scrapes
Has today scripted? Soon.
A building next to a body shop
Without bodies. A doctor who said,
“I know your doctor, he knows
My work.”
The next building a pea soup
Color. Bent flowers
On a desk. A doctor saying,
“You are all legs.” Would
That were.
Another look at the place: a leatherette
Lounger, tufts of Kleenex,
An aide asking, “Are you sure
You’re all right?” I have never
Been.
Fred could have been my dad, now
Could be the sons. In a way.
— Angela Ball
(from Field)