off-white

“We don’t belong there”
My dad admits
“Walking along as if
I owned the place”
But Dad!

When did we stop fitting?
I want to live
both, I think from a rock,
the pond coppery below.
He was scared by a rattlesnake.

“the thing was huge, it stood
and hissed like this!”
His tan hand curled.
I turn on the rock, into leaves.
A deer jolts away.

I just, I just, I am not-
I try to fit both.
black birds warn me, and stop.
Only mosquitoes aren’t picky,
sometimes

but it really takes a housefly
or a rock dove or a dog
on a leash; we’re not alone.
Chipmunks in the garden,
obese squirrels on the feeder.

I close the door to the off-white house.
My dad is fixing something.
it’s all decay and dust
at some point,
I think.