A Poem for My Dad

I even miss his halitosis:

turning my nose

straight out the window

on drives to the supermarket.

The angry conversation

with TV news anchors—

the twits who could not

pronounce Pasa Robles.

Pacing the sidelines

of JV football games

wearing his fanny-pack

screaming at unpaid referees.

All the small annoyances

only family can have: fights

with a decade of back-story

occasioned by garage organization.

No one will ever get under my skin

in the same mysteriously visceral way—

or force the teeth-grinding, fist-clenched

response: God damn-it Dad,

I miss you!