Or on a rotting dock with water sloshing
He casts his reel and listens to the winding.
We travel down small asphalt roads
And thoughts form casual conversation.
He's one person
who can break the surface,
Open the can of worms;
The air releases.
Once I had small tufts of hair.
He lifted me up so my head would be
Above the water.
Through an ageless chewing of waves
His shoulders are a dry seat.
Dad never lets me down.
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