It was a world without stories,
without the heart beating,
a world of panic, night screaming
that kept them from telling.
There were Saturday morning
cartoons, and Hulk Hogan, Bret
the Hitman Hart, Shawn Michaels.
Those Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling
his uncles watched late at night.
They watched Vietnam War movies too,
where Asians tortured American POWs
and were killed by Chuck Norris.
It was a world of bright flickering
light that dulled the brain,
kept minds sedated and bodies
from jumping out of broken windows,
a world where this orphan child
stayed awake in the dark
dreaming of sweet tenderness.
Years later, this child becomes a father
and he gives his children what he did not have:
toys that litter the living room floor,
a father who is always present,
books filling every shelve on
every floor.
In the quiet of the evening
he reads to his children, listens to their
fears and curiosities, helps them map out the world.
In the quiet of the evening
he tells them what his uncles and aunts could not
and lets them know he will do everything
in his power to protect them.
