A relic from cadiallac days,
my father spent the majority
of his time
trying to burn away his waking hours.

His lone piece of advice to me;

"Never cook bacon with your shirt off."

I was nine and didn't feel like
pointing out the fact that
I was a girl;

he gave me a red pocket knife,
told me it was an appendage,
gave me a calling card,
so I would never feel abandoned-

[a year later the minutes
expired]

but time after time he let
dusk settle into my eyes,
slept through weekends,
pretended he couldn't hear my voice
that tried to squeeze into his head
amoungst the coded music/screams of men
emitted from the television.

As his daughter,
I could not catch
his broadcast waves

I remained unheard
unviewed
for many years.

I am a
decoded daughter
sending FM circles from
the tip of my pen.

17 years have not changed
a single word.