Waking Daddy
by Akua Lezli Hope
He was always tired, worn out
grabbing a few hours sleep by day,
for long, wearying work at night
We sent the littlest one to wake him.
He could recognize her tiny fists
her fierce, high-pitched commands and
would answer her impatient summons
Wake Up, Daddy!, sweetly
When she called he would leave
the nightmares he revisited, okay baby,
and not report what he told us:
a red multi-armed mutant hovering
at the end of the block, ready to snatch
any in proximity, the invisible war
waged with hostile aliens that shred concrete
and flesh or the remembrance of when he was
taken and returned by the East River
or the dirty Hudson, maybe both, long ago
before he made us, his gang of wild
and wary children, nervous, but inoculated.
Gyroscope Review !22