Rabbits From Nowhere

It is almost like a game,

calling Bob.

My father wants to put an ad out

in the paper with the hope he will call him back,

but he won’t call.

He doesn’t even remember who he is.

I want to tell him to let it go,

but he can’t.

His repertoire is getting smaller and smaller,

like an ailing magician down to his last few tricks.

Gone are the days of sawing assistants in half

and pulling rabbits out of hats.


there are only a few card tricks left and the occasional quarter

magically appearing from behind someone’s ear.

I want to shake him out of this space,

to show him the libraries

he has left behind.

I want to walk him to the new grocery store

down the street

with the wood burning pizza and the freshly made sushi

and say, “Eat, eat.  Look at what you’ve been missing.”

But I can’t even get him out of bed

or into a clean shirt.

I want to get him to pick up a racquet

and hit tennis balls with me

but all he wants to do is watch t.v.

I want to tell him I love him

but he is too busy calling me a thief.

It is as if he has stepped behind the magic curtain

and disappeared forever. 

What are you looking for?