Untitled (A Familial Ode)

The toilet paper roll

must be underturned,

    not over –

The coffee filters doubled, because

any less than two

      makes for weak brew.

You love a cold glass of milk

  just after a nap

and before you go

to bed.

Your toenail shards

dot carpet

  between coffee table

and couch.

You save

papers and papers

receipts, bill stubs –

coupons

    way past date,

        littered across the counter.

There is not

one shirt in your closet

that has escaped

  a ketchup

         dribble.

You lean

across the checkout

counter to hear

your total one more time –

your aidless ear

    inclined.

The hairs on your head

hold beige blonde

like a lungful of breath.

Your burst of laugh

and temper flare –

worrisome cough

of cigarette air.

Quick to feel

and full of wounds,

   still grateful

and happy

at the little things –

and I have never

loved a man

           so much.