Mama always brewed hot, black coffee
on Sunday mornings
We all wondered
if that was the special Jesus potion
to bring our Daddy back to us

His whiskey-scorched eyes
tried to meet my cornflower ones,
but they could not
Our danced-on, spilled-on hardwoods
always got the best of Daddy’s eyes

I missed him
his wrinkled dollar bills
he gave me to skip to the 7-11
for all the candy
four quarters could buy

I loved the bottle caps and candy cigarettes
and how
Daddy sometimes smoked with me
his Winstons swirled in the balmy night,
and I danced movie star steps in my head

Mama always brewed hot, black coffee
on Sunday mornings,
but I think Jesus
had forgotten
about my Daddy