5-Back on the road the outside whistles its way in as we go, wondering if my knuckles will ever be that hairy.

4-These afternoons collect into one I can remember from the black and white where bright sun fades us in the foreground

3-Rope rounds the tree branch hanging on a swing while he meals inside on the big table/it smells like water here/a washed breeze

2-Truck in the grass/the doors slam heavy and imperfect/ cinnamon from the house as he boots up wood steps behind me and calls me kid

1-And if I stare comes the window rattle with the road/a seat springs metal and his hand/his grip on the wheel like mine holding this photo

This week Monday through Friday, will be posting a serial called “Untitled summer.”

5-Mom came home with a gypsy girl to feed/Dad read and I kept quiet because through her thin white shirt was the round of my first nipple

4-Mom urged Dad to throw ball with me but he stayed heavy in his chair and she took to windy sighs in my direction whenever he was around

3-They said he built it all himself, a ground up guy/From nothing rose Dad/And when proud, his big block hands pat me awkward on the head

2-Dad raised me on the no son of mine diet of don’ts/No son of mine cries but I did and Dad flipped a loud newspaper while Mom snuck me coco