after a Subaru radio commercial
My love has no wheels. It’s not reserved and silent. It isn’t a stand-in object of rust and measured usefulness. My love did not sit, hands folded, waiting, for her mother to instruct me further. No. I wept for eight nights chanting Handle this like I knew how to pray. I researched. Read actual books. Threw books across the room. When she arrived I felt sore when my hands were not washing bottles or holding her toes. My love grows like cactus. It’s a sonnet that I recite each morning, thorns and all. This love is also a father’s love.
Michael VanCalbergh currently lives in Normal, IL and works at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and will appear in Best New Poets 2021. His work has previous appeared in Spoon River Poetry Review, Apex Magazine, Tinderbox Poetry, and many other spaces.