Bone mountain ridge:
four peaks. Everyone’s dad
should teach them how to punch;
First two knuckles
No contact yet, a gentle jab.
I ask him to feel bicep muscles
& he squeezes
& he frowns.
I do push-ups on my fists.
raw. Erosion, weathering: adorning
that the change is
I will be so red that
will know I was ever a new summit,
smacking at the drywall, the oldest son.
Dad walks through
the flesh valley. I submit.
There’s no such thing as soft & gentle men.
I practice. I practice all that I can.