Stephen Kampa – Dodo
Standing before his boss, his clipboard clutched
Tightly against his chest as though it might be
The breastplate of some long-outdated suit
Of armor, strangely small and thin, he listens
While from the howling suckhole of a face
After we saw what there was to see
we went off to buy souvenirs, and my father
waited by the car and smoked. He didn’t need
a lot of things to remind him where he’d been.
Why do you want so much stuff?
he might have asked us. “Oh, Ed,” I can hear
my mother saying, as if that took care of it.