MY FATHER AND I MEET FOR COFFEE TO DISCUSS WAR

I wore my navy blue raincoat
braved the lightning
hopped oceans of puddles
disregarded thunderstorm warnings
took two trains across the city
to be here when they opened
my father is already waiting
reading the paper
under the bus stop out front

he orders a coffee black
eggs over easy and bacon
I order a chai latte and
a chocolate croissant
we take a booth at the back
settle in, before we
entertain small talk
but not too much
he isn’t built for that

I catch him up on the girls
Sophia accepted into art school
Penelope's piano performance
both have June dance recitals

he tells me about his camp site
how the fish take better at dawn
the locals bring him lunch
because at night
he plays guitar for them

this is when nerves settle
we start to laugh
poke fun at one another
the waitress brings our plates
he scoffs at mine
offers me some bacon
I’m grateful
croissants are not my favorite

I ask my father
if he can tell me more about
what he knows of war
now from where he stands

different than
when he was just
a boy from El Paso
busing to the draft office

he talks about his father’s
appetite for alcohol
how he could make his way from
one end of town to the other before breakfast
places he fantasized about
from the boxcar of freight trains
that came and then went

he tells me about Dylan
Masters of War
names childhood friends he lost there
reminds me it was his
responsibility to save them
how he sometimes did, with his guitar
how big the moon looked from a foxhole
letters he wrote his mother
that were opened before they reached her
protesters who threw shit at them
as they stepped off planes
that brought them home

we finish our fourth cup of coffee
I try to check my watch indiscreetly
he suggests I get going
Don’t want to be late to get the girls
we stand to hug
I hold a little longer
squeeze a little tighter
he leans in and lets me
places a kiss on my forehead
pats me on the back
tells me to keep my wits about me
be aware of my surroundings
says to give the girls a kiss for him

I walk away slowly
he’s still sitting at the booth
I see him flagging down the waitress
hear him order a slice of cherry pie
I glance back from outside the diner
he holds his fist in the air

a cab honks
as I step aimlessly into the street
waving him goodbye