Dad Jacket

if this city is still           breaking me
in with its weather       and tethered eye

you be the arch                                   in my neck
the mane                                             growing from it
      and the wind                   running through it

with you I be                                       rampant as a joke
off a tongue                                         that’s off the clock

      when my master             come as the cold
the wet the leering                             staggering men

I ask I be insulated                           and I ask I be
      invisible like a tuber     like a sock
gagging on its kin                             in a swell of beige

and you sweat-spent                       and tattered
      street smart                     serving second term

                fold me in               a new way