Father’s Day

My father’s head
had a certain smell
which was not
off-putting exactly
but not quite
right. I would smell
the smell when I
put him back to bed
after he’d fallen
or was in too much pain
to do it himself.

Famous and infamous,
every damn dad.

Today, digging out
the bandana I wear
under my bike helmet
to keep my shaved head
from burning into
a pink grid, I smelled
the same dead-on smell.
Specific, true, precise,
factual. Verbatim.
It was not exactly
off-putting but not
quite right.