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For You 

This is for you,
all-powerful wretched pronoun,

You the mute roommate I talk to

You who know all the constellations in every sky

You with gardens that grow dozens of
flowers you can name in Latin

You who know kids and electronics

You who are not intimidated by the keyboard or death

You who have read the top 100 books
on the top 100 lists of the top 100 books

You who listen and sometimes hear

You who know vermillion from fuchsia and
chartreuse from lime

You who might read and must be satisfied

You with the power to destroy or ignore

You in the front row paying some mind

You in the back row sleeping.

This is for you.

However, this is not all for you.

When you chuckle or laugh, that is for me.

When you go running for the dictionary, that is for me.

When you don’t know the flower or tree, that is for me.

When you repeat a liked line or simile, that is for me.

When you’re set up like a tackle dummy, that is for me.

This is, I hope, enough for both of us.

Speaking of...

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