My Dad's Teddy Roosevelt

My Dad’s Teddy Roosevelt

Sometimes he’s on the mountain
carving out muscle and
acres of stone.

Sometimes he’s in the wilderness
stalking noiseless plucks of
thin leafed grass,
soil crumbs rolling
down his plump cheeks
burrowed beneath the cracks
of his bushy haired smile.

Sometimes you admire his daily rituals,
how in a blink of a second
a sharp shooter can get him
right between the eyes.

Sometimes you worry about him.

He is the man with browning
teeth, square
jaw, square deal,
crimson glow,
gambler’s green thumb.

Man of the house.
Reprimander
and commander of Truth.
Follow him now
to the circumference of the Earth�"
a distance he can only wish to travel.

He likes to think
he knows you
as he completes his expedition.

He turns half-way to the Galapagos,
greets the Tuareg people,
swishes beer in the fleshy globes,
says something casual,
almost inviting

As if he can reach you
from far away.