Based on a true patio.
They loved Jesus enough to put him right up against Canada Day and long weekends. That’s not nothing.
Maybe the first step of gathering is to realize who is lost. Or maybe I just think it’s funny to take things too literally.
Based on a true father. Probably based on all the true fathers. At least half.
I just couldn’t take it seriously, but I guess I’m also not to be taken seriously.
The only thing worse than writing a poem about regrets and sorrow is trying to explain it.
I don’t know. I think I just wanted to write a Mothers Day poem that had the word “episiotomy.”