Firedog

When straying from writing about my wife or kids

I’m instantly cognizant of something.

These are my muses I’m leaving 

for a second, of course,

but for territory off the beaten path.

Adam

is no stranger for sure, fundamentally my brother

Yet he doesn’t inhabit my space these days

my routine day to day.

We meet at Ghost River

and my bubble trails off

the routine of clocking in and out

washing my children while singing Baby Beluga

pouring the wine and sitting down

with Friday Night Lights

and I think “Oh yea. You!”

I don’t even have to remember you

for best friends are like family.

By default, their name comes to mind

every time you think over your story.

And just like Sammy

my childhood dog for twelve years

whose scent is practically engrained in my nostrils,

the warmth of your presence

rushes back

the memories of your apartment porch

catty corner Firedog

the Corner Market on 13th

intoxicate my spirit.

Dorcy

Knox is slow with how he enters the room, almost tripping over the bottle

that rests along the bottom of the wall, some chocolate milk still left.

Darcy slung it off the couch this morning, wanting her sleep sack off.

I hope Darcy didn't wake him.

He walks to her, “Hey Dorcy” 
looks to me and grins, says “Dorcy” again.

I smirk at him, “Dorcy?”

Knox loses it
takes a full minute to stop laughing.

Knox

you’ve become so whimsical.

I’ve enjoyed seeing you come into your own individual self 
that only Knox Rucker can inhabit.

Yesterday, we were up there on the barstools

you were drinking some of my “fizzy drink”

it popped on your tongue and you looked at me with a smile.

And I had this moment, one I’ve been experiencing a lot lately

I felt myself become you

almost like I felt your aura wrap around me

and teeter me into your world

with your free and mammoth imagination 

coating me.

now just about gone

The harsh glossy white that painted our walls on Friday
is now just about gone.

Footlong patches of snow take up a meager percentage 

of each yard around us

and remind me I worked 

almost around the clock Friday and Saturday.

I missed out on seeing Knox and Darcy
playing with Micah and Jonathan from across the street.

The crunch crunch of them grazing down the sidewalk 

outside my window.

But I'm not sure I missed all that much. 

I heard Knox's crying afterwards, very shortly after, 

for his hands couldn't handle the cold. 

I would make a guess that by the time a father's oldest reaches age three

things begin to change like rapidfire 

starting with the plans inked all over the calendar on the wall.

We need to prioritize and lay out what can go and what to add

that this one thing is unimportant
and this other thing
well, quite simply just is.

And it becomes increasingly more and more aware to me
that time is a passing thing.
Time is now.
And now is important

for now is just about gone.