Your tie, and the way you know it isn't neat
tells me to believe everything you say.
That, and the way you look me in the eye
and tell me why you do those things.
I didn't want to see you meet my father
who knows so much, he's sad
because he throws shoes, and you won
with your hands in your pockets, modest grin.
And I followed his suit back home
and looked down when I saw him stumble
but he didn't look back at me anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment