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At the hood.
zack

There’s raspberries growing in the garden,
 1
I tell my father and smile. Humph,
 2
he says, heavily distracted with fixing Fords
 3
and the Dylan CD he puts on when he
 4
fixes Fords.
 5
 
Heartily, he begins to sing knock knock knockin’
 6
into the radiator or the carburetor—I was never too sure,
 7
though I’d been told which was on the right
 8
and which was on the left many times before—
 9
and as he reaches the verse about the long,
 10
black cloud, I tell him again, THERE’S RASPBERRIES
 11
GROW-ING IN THE GARDEN!!!
 12
 
Uh, huh, he replies and
 13
pats me on the head (either a fatherly love-gesture
 14
or a passive fuck-off), and continues to gingerly hum
 15
as Bob’s sandpaper vocals pour out of the ’56 Hundred
 16
and onto the oil-ruined memory of grass
 17
where we stand.
 18

03/07/07

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