Notes for the New Caregiver

Notes for the New Caregiver

Some days I will eat a big breakfast, some days I will sing.  Some days I will obsess about my socks, some days I will share my grandfather.  Some days I will walk down the

bike path, I will tell you my secrets or call you my own or leave you for dead or tear you limb from limb and ask for breakfast.  Some days I will ask you to apologize

immediately, though I was the one poking you with a fork and you will do exactly what I tell you because I was never anybody's father or patient, God dammit.  Some days we

will share a towel some days we will find the sanctuary some days we will fold all my clothes into triangles or find our seats along the first base line at Wrigley and I will beg to

get high with me and take me to church if you know what I mean and put gas in my car and sign your own check.

Some days I will preach to you in pure Bohemian and you will plead with me in Hebrew.  You will bless me and I will kiss your feet and defend your family and change your

tires and fix your sight and mend your heart and walk you home and long for less and give you my dreams and then have to pee and forget what I said and lose track of

time.  Some days, I'm so sorry, it will be all be up to you and later you will miss it terribly but never tell me.  You will negate me and ask me for a raise and put my shit

together and hold me up as a sign to the centuries,...

and then some day, maybe not unlike this one right here, this one with birds in song in the yard in the green in the hope in the light... we will we... we, we will... oh God yes

we will, we will