Fatherhood

It took me fatherhood to understand
Why he had to have me there, lump of boy

In that green, ‘54 Chevy, at hand

For nothing but my ears as he deployed

His tractors in his monologue to me;

Me staring at the fields we rolled by

On our way to Rio Linda, Gridley,

Or East Nicholas.  Sometimes we would stop

And he would chat with some farming crony.

I’d sit in the truck, smelling old cans

Of oil, counting rusty washers, eyeing

Flies as they bumped their way to the top

Of the windshield.  He would come back laughing

At some inside joke that Ard Kozono

Had told him or else commiserating

With Al Ferreira about tomatoes

Being bad this year.  I guess I listened

Because I remember it all.  I know

Now, if I had a son, I would drag him

From Blythe to Arcata simply to have

His ears there to listen to his dad’s hum,

Somehow tuned to his grandfather’s key

And the chorus of all our ancient fathers

Murmuring of Japan to their boys.