He comes home
from work wearing
his gray striped overalls
covered with Vanadium dust.
I think he is the
President of the United States
I'm close. He is
the President of his Union
"Carry me. Carry me."
I whine and beg.
He's so tall,
when he lifts me up,
I can touch the sky.
Well, the ceiling, I mean.
And I can feel the place
where he fell through
one day, from the attic
as I sat in my high chair
just a moment before.
They tell me
I wasn't there,
That it happened
to my brother.
Perhaps I was there,
Waiting to be born.
