Wednesday, December 14, 2016

December 14: Waiting for Daughter, Cold Pizza, "Celeste's Cavity"

I am in my office at the university.  It's a little after 7 p.m.  Once again, I'm waiting for my daughter to be done with her dance classes.  It's dark and cold outside.  I don't want to leave the building.  In fact, I have some cold pizza and a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream with me.  I could easily survive the night.

However, I have to be a responsible father.  My daughter would not appreciate being stranded at the dance studio.  Don't worry, I'm not actually contemplating getting drunk in my office.  However, I am thinking about how I am the father of a sixteen-year-old girl.  It still sort of astounds me that she's in high school.  Driving my car, too.

I found a poem the other day that I wrote a while ago, when my daughter was still losing her baby teeth.  It made me a little . . . nostalgic is the right word, I guess.

Celeste's Cavity

by:  Martin Achatz

Like a bruise in apple flesh,
It has grown on a molar,
Promises to cause problems.
She is almost five.
This will be the first time
Someone will want her to open
Her mouth to reward her
With pain, a bee sting
On her peach flesh cheek
Or rind of gum.  I hope
She remembers this feeling
Ten years from now
When some boy urges his tongue
Between her lips.  I hope
She remembers the white-hot
Stab, the numb ache.  I hope
She bites that tongue hard,
Like she would an unripe plum.
I hope she's the one
Who causes hurt first,
Who leaves the boy
Raw and bleeding on the branch.

Please vote for Saint Marty:

Voting for Poet Laureate of the U. P.

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