I am surrounded by clatter and commotion.
The clang-crash of pots and pans
falling from the cupboard to the floor
as I look further back.
Despite the noise, I am seeking.
The click-scrape of plastic parts
forgotten far in the back,
each corner forcing a new worry.
Despite the noise, I write while driving
because it feels good to feel.
I will teach nine years of love
followed by nine years of cunning.
And she will not be ill-equipped
As I am.
A faked smile from the girl
that makes my coffee.
I will surround myself in this.
I will absorb these beautiful things.
I will hold them close and forever
as paper sucks up ink into its fibers.
Even if they are make believe.