He ran his hand over His face, then looked at His fingernails—spaghetti sauce. “Let me tell you about girls,” Dad began, and then said, “Well, they're usually shorter Than us guys.” I was thinking Of Sarah from biology, How she came up To my shoulder, And the scalpel in her hand— The poor frog didn't blink When she ran a slice Up its belly. He then said, “They cry Sometimes, and they like shoes.” Where was Dad going? “Girls are smarter,” he added, “But we sort of know More practical things”— He pointed to the Ceiling and I knew what He meant—the cooler on the roof I oiled last weekend. “Girls are emotional,” he started, But then leveled his gaze On the television. “What the heck!” Dad crowed. “It's snowy.” I had to climb to The roof to get the picture Right for him, Dad Yelling, “Left, turn it left, No right, right I said!”
