Kid Lll Poem by robert dickerson

Afterwards he drives me uptown
over my protests. Even so late
the traffic on Madison jogs thickly on-
the president is in town. He
has a final on Thursday: engines, level one;
fuel lines consume him, the
gilded storefronts glide by, it is charming
how he renders oily tasks into wobbly basic science.
I cleave to the virtuous concrete,
determined to avoid the sin of daddying.
On 86th Street we turn, he knows this neighborhood.
Here is where an old girlfriend lived.
Here there was a club.
Last week it was the same.
Home, at the curb I wish him quick luck.
Next week? Same day, same time?
'Count on it', and he is off, his red tail lights
immedietly indistinguishable from the rest.

Rarely, and whether we know it or not
at the time, Fate hands us a plum
without cost or obligation, for,
it seems, reasons all her own:
A whim, casually imparted
to a listening ear, a phone call or two,
the tentative settling on a date,
a cautious first meeting and (readiness
is all) we're cooking. Yes,
I have always wanted to do this, No
it cost me nothing but the time, yes,
it all sort of just happened, all this,
the terrible, terrible routine,
and the kid.