Читать книгу Bad Ideas - Michael V. Smith - Страница 11

Prayer for Paternal Love

All eight fingers on his right hand refuse

to be a blessing

so that even at the dinner table

he cannot pinch salt from the crowding

of his digits.

Days after he was born,

Only dogs,

his father had said,

could ignore them.

Eight splayed fingers on the back

yard stump, knuckles

around the wrist,

Hold still, his dad says.

The boy prays the octopus

of his hand contains

a secret.

Bouyancy

like silt that can storm

then settle, given time.

He has loved his father

less than either of them

would wish.

Now give it here,

his father says, and the boy

to prove the point

reaches for their axe.