He made me pick him up early from his friend’s house so we could buy you a Father’s Day gift
—you, the “noob” who arrived in his world when he was six.
Often you get upset because he doesn’t talk to you, or he only replies in one-word answers.
I never thought to question his curt; I was always taught men don’t say much because they don’t have much to say (you are an anomaly)
But you take his aloofness as not caring much.
And here I thought all Y chromosomes were shaped the same.
But you should have seen him picking out your tie.
We must have stopped in every shop.
He picked up one after the other,
examining each pattern for the correct answer,
not unlike you reviewing his math homework, every check-off a silent declaration of love.
Maybe that’s how men talk–soundless to the ear but amplified to the eye.
You should have seen him pick out your tie.
He asked the cashier if they had a box.
He carried the box throughout the mall and to the car,
I had never seen a head held so high
And when I dropped him off, he said don’t forget to give it to Doug and said I won’t.
You should have seen the way he smiled.
