Our fathers tell us
whatever we want
can be had by effort,
and effort is the good.
Work hard, and you will attain.
So we do as they say,
and gain the same things:
steady jobs and fading dreams.
But in the spare minutes of our livelihoods,
we question the truth of these parental claims.
For not all things are born out of energy.
Hope takes leave like a bird we can’t follow.
We desperately wish our fathers were right;
that we could race doubt and win;
that we could reach out for luck and beauty
like the baseball on that summer afternoon.
If only they were right.
If only, by effort, we could leave nothing undone.
For example, if I told you your love
was at the end of this road
how fast would you run?
4.12.09
c.l.
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