how buttons and zippers never line up
the first time you try
how easy it is if your sneakers are black
to clear a mud puddle
how the man with the dog looks a lot like your dad
if he kisses his wife like your dad kissed your mom
the way a woodpecker pecks at a tree
and whether his breath ever smells like your dad’s
not sweet like candy but lemony sweet
if the dog chews his shoes like Scruffs chewed your loafers
if it chews all his shoes will he put it to sleep
if you drown in a dream will you die in the ocean
cups for communion and holes in your tights
and how Sunday mornings always seem sad
how that boy put his foot out and tripped you and laughed
how your mother had said
that means he likes you
almost as if she was taking his side
how much it hurt like little things can
how when they hurt they’re not little things.