Daughter’s Week Mairead has the blue to green eyes of my wife, they stretch in wonder this time, dismissingly turn away next, by Thursday familiarity has weaned to an acceptable guest, whose favor is highly dependent on hard he slams the hammer to hit the bell, by Sunday I’ve become Dad, to enjoy this diluting privilege through Wednesday. She coos, tells plaintive vignettes, looks out the window of our aquarium world, grass seed dotted like a keno board on crusted, uneven dirt, random trails of buffalo grass for mini-scouts. Me: Look, a blue truck. She: Places shoe, garnished with tomato sized ladybug against the window, Yes, remember this, to ward off my baby bird thud, Five months to scale the learning curve, with only instrumentation. Four plus decades propping me up like vintage books that need dusting, knowing that a leap off the fourth edition would catch an uncut nail, but fail a rockslide of other tasks. Postbed, prework, postfed equals primo timing, I’m Mick Jagger belting Old McDonald, less than mandatory Pee Herman dance in biking helmet and reflective ankle straps, Reading time is slurping edges and popups, my cells stutter step with happiness. Paul spent a career as a student and a student of odd jobs. He was born in Oak Park, Illinois and then lived in Madison, Wisconsin for five years, Rhode Island for a year, and then lived in another suburb of Chicago until moving out of the house after graduating from college in Florida. As an adult he has lived in Indianapolis, Idaho, San Jose, Denver and Providence. Paul has had work published or forthcoming in iddie, Macabre Cadaver, The Maynard and Hobble Creek Review.
