Weekdays too my dad would get up early 

and put his sweatpants on in the early Washington frost 

(the heat from downstairs never made its way upstairs) 

And with hands rough as a new canvass from hospital labor, 

holding bodies upright until they were stitched back together again 

he would sip the steam from his mug 

of coffee he made himself. 

I’d wake the same with schoolyard complaints 

already laced on my lips 

and breakfast on the table. 

As he defrosted the ice rink off the Mazda 

making sure to sit on the side with the one working seatbelt 

getting half the answers right to the seven o’clock radio game show

thinking I should call in and win concert tickets 

As the red steel body sliced through the fog 

and the green lights bled down the window panes 

yawning 

while he drove in sleepy confidence. 

Praying to catch the red lights 

that dreaded left-hand turn 

not wanting to reach the school 

to leave the toasty insides 

What other reason, what other reason 

would there be?