by Joanna Gilman Hyde

The Hawk Beach 2:57pm

My Father never had Me

or when He did

He pimped Me off

or felt the need

to collect Me from sleepless

hotel rooms —

His Best Hope for Me

(My Brother He had given up on)

was to say,

“You are in ‘Recovery'”

Well — if He could see Me NOW

down by The Guzzle

in The South Wind of July

sitting in The Sand of My Achievement

He might come down from Heaven

or where ever He ended up

and shake My Hand

and send Me on My Way