Fished again this year, Dad. 
One iridescent perch. 
Lovely fish, but small.

Only went to the park,
stayed close to home,
since Dre is still unwell.

(I thought that honored you as well)

Later, on the deck,
a shaggy, mottled sack
of feathers chirped at me.

“Baby bird, you need 
to get moving.” I scraped
the mower from the garage.

Churned its wings, hurled
itself upon my backyard fence.
Curled into a spiky ball.

Its father thrashed from the nearby
holly tree. Bright orange chest 
between me and the fledgling.

“This is a little on the nose 
for Father’s Day, don’t you think?”
I asked the Robin out loud.

He looked at me in a way
that said: “You get that I’m a robin?”

And I said: “Fair enough.”