Dad's brown leather jacket hangs,

waiting for me. Waiting for his will to be read,

and waiting for release.

Finally the jacket will ride around 

on someone stable like me.

Dad's raging heart sunk into the jacket.

A rage buried deep in the seams.

The shiny cream inside can be worshiped

or belt beaten. Too often hanging,

worn once and maltreated.

​

I crave to show the jacket more glorified moments.

After basketball game conquered, I'll adorn it

with racy bear hugs.

Then to afterparties 

where uncoherced love surrounds us.

​

See that's the difference between you and me.

In my possession, leather won't stick to leather seat.

Leather will be soft, worn out by love.

Not harrowing screams.

​