what kind of wound make a man
set his favorite rooster loose
on a dying hen what make the man
snap the neck of that twice-broken bird
before his child’s eyes what make him see
the bad idea after the fact—what open him
like a storm what make a man refuse
to ask forgiveness what make him offer
the sudden softness of his voice instead
what get the man loaded what make him choose
to carry the small brightness of his child’s body
through the cold sleeping city —no—
what make a man decide to drift the roads anyway
so his child stay warm in the front seat
what make him park the car two blocks away—
what arms filled and humming you are my sun-
shine each dark step of the way home
From Night Angler. Copyright © 2018 by Geffrey Davis. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc. on behalf of BOA Editions.