Ignorant Fathers

by Michael Cleary

Florida’s afternoon showers recall
my son in the driveway, shirtless,
shooting baskets in the rain.
His shorts droop from bony hips,
stretch across muscled thighs. I admire
his leap and follow-through, backspin
just as I taught him. Only 12 and already
I see he can be better than me.

I know threats of lightning won’t stop him.
I know that passion
from Adirondack winters
shoveling city courts until
snow banks piled high as bleachers.
Watch cap, sweaters, gloves
peeled down to nothing
but sweatpants, t-shirt, tingling hands.
Steam rising from my body like a blessing.

Leave us there in the hush of the driveway
before I betray him with angry words
and fierce expectations, learning
how heavy a father’s hard words can be.
O Lord of Ignorant Fathers and Precious Sons,
keep him safe in that luscious drizzle.