I say it anyway. I just want him to be Daddy again.

Thanks, Bruh

The doorbell rings late Sunday afternoon and it’s Daniel

standing there in his striped raincoat and blue rain boots,

shivering, his bike with the back wheel still spinning

lying on the lawn. I was thinking, he says, not even

all the way in yet but shaking out of his coat, about the time

when we first met. I don’t know why. Just came to my head.

He takes off his boots, leaves them by the door, follows

me into the living room, rubbing his wet face

with his shirt.

You were the one who said yeah.

Yeah about what?

The fireplace is going, and I’m working on a puzzle

in front of it. It’s a Yeti on top of a mountain, and so far

the Yeti’s head is done.

I sit back down on the floor on one side of it

and Daniel sits on the other, picks up a piece and stares at it.

You said yeah about racing.

I don’t know what Ollie or Darry would’ve said

but you said yeah.

I didn’t know who your daddy was or anything.

Not yet. And even after I found out,

all I really remember is that you were the first

one who said yes.

He finds a place for the puzzle piece and picks up another,

starts putting pieces together like he’s done this puzzle

a hundred times.

Daniel’s not smart like Ollie is. Not school smart.

He fails tests sometimes even

when he studies. But as we sit working

that puzzle and talking,

I realize that he’s a whole nother kind of smart.

He looks over at me and smiles.

The log in the fireplace crackles. Outside it rains and rains.

Daniel and me lean into that puzzle

for the rest of the afternoon.

Two-Hand Touch

I’m watching cartoons when Ollie calls me and

says everybody’s going to the park. You coming?

I’m still in my pj’s but get dressed real fast

and hop on my bike.

It’s sunny out, but cold. The park is crowded, though, and

it’s a minute before I see Ollie’s red Afro out on the field.

Darry’s there too and some other guys, and one of them tosses me the ball.

You got your daddy’s skills? Then I got you on my team.

I catch the ball in my stomach.

Let’s do two-hand touch, I say.

Tackle, the guy says.

I look at Ollie. He looks at me.

I throw the ball back at the guy.

Nah. Then I’m out, I tell him.

All right already, touch, then, the kid says.

Even though, he says, touch ain’t even really football.

From Outside

And some nights everything’s so good. There’s fish fried with cornmeal,

mashed potatoes and kale cooked with so much garlic