I’ve been around a lot of people
Who don’t know how to say I love you
I offer up my step dad dead and gone
Bruised and brutalized by his own indulgences
Among his vices he included me
I wreck his car he goes my bail
Pays me mind, speaks the word that holds the line
Holds his tongue, spares the rod
Stays the hand, the boot, the prod
Grease the rail for me; but say “love”?
Maybe if you think of love as loose change
Or if the puddle of used crank case oil
At the end of the rail looks like love then he said it
Now, do I thank him for his love
Or kick myself for taking it