By F. Douglas Brown
this week's last load of laundry has me stealing
my son's precious teenage time I reenact the duty
of my father and what comes hammering back
are trips with him pushing his cart of dirties down
the street his southern charm waving or shaking
hands—: bus driver mailman neighbors get
countless invites to dinner or a Saturday bbq
my father's good morning darlin' clanks & pings
as quarters spill into the bona fide grip
of the present my son's hands show signs
he's ready for the tedious work ahead as he storms
through pile after pile then his precision when offering
assistance to a stranger this chore becomes a lesson
for the two of us this shared work turns and tumbles
neatly folds—: a fond memory
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We had gorgeous weather on Tuesday and I got to see crocuses! Cabin John Park is usually the first place I see purple crocuses -- there weren't any open yet at Brookside Gardens last weekend, nor in the usual yards in my neighborhood -- but there were already a bunch open in the park, where I wanted to walk even before I went to meet a friend who only just joined the local Pokemon group. The raid wasn't memorable but they told me how to catch Smeargle, which I did.
My friend Annmarie is back in town for the second time in less than a month, this time for the groundbreaking for the national memorial for Operation Desert Storm and Desert Shield, of which she's a veteran. She spent most of the day at the event with slightly more famous people than me, like Dick Cheney, then she met me and Paul at the Laredo Grill for Mexican food. When we got home we watched the season finale of The Gifted, sad but satisfying, and Miracle Workers, still total crack!
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