Poem For Papa

It was a ratty ass rent house,
but I wanted you to see
past the hip high weeds,
the crime scene carpet,
and the lack of working a/c
and be proud of me,
all grown-up and independent.

But, it was such a scorcher that summer . . .

that when you showed up
(all gravelly and gruff)
with a pizza and a window unit,
I got willing to settle
for cold air
and knowing that you loved me.