Father & Fawn

by Joe Andrews

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It takes ten minutes

for a new born deer to stand,

eight hours to walk.

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My father's cancer was a weed, green

creeping buttercup, ragwort and dandelions,

tapped roots on the wrinkles of his brain.

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Deer celebrate spring

bleeding velvet from antlers,

bearing stronger horns.

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Loss comes packaged when you're younger,

The bad news boys, your dad is dead

the good news, we're getting our first computer.

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Children acknowledge

death the way a herd of deer

understands the wind.

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I could have spent my

life teaching the wind to deer -

my dad would still be dead.