Often enough, I can fleetingly
Do as I am enjoined
And find in fatherhood a way
To see through bright new eyes
But look: The glimpse blurs
In the blink it takes
A preschooler’s toys to scatter
And I am reeducated in
Adulthood’s doleful knowledge

To be clear: I can feel
The fibrillating, unadulterated joy of
That sweet wave formed of flesh
Whose snapshots are finely focused
And shared with the adoring crowd
Yet I envision this fuzzy math that follows:
The inevitable findings that fathers are
Fallible, foolish, ultimately ephemeral

Here is a glancing truth, I suppose:
When cast from the correct vantage point
Nothing our vale of tears has to offer
Can sting more than the moment a sudsy drop
Of shampoo snakes its way down
The forehead, finding its collateral target
“Dry my eyes, please!” you beg
— So I do
Then you open them up to drink me in
And I do the same for you

– 30 –