Elizabeth Van Horn
	My Father My mother wants to bury my father in Arlington He's a veteran, she says, and he's worked for this damn country for fifty years He deserves it, she says I can't remember a time when my father Wasn't how he is now, but there must have been one Unable to walk, unable to work Unable to do anything but watch public television on the TV we have in our kitchen My father sits in the dining room at the table he says cost three thousand dollars My mother insisted on it, he says His plate rests on a paper towel for easy clean up Because he doesn't eat too well on his own anymore What if my father wasn't broken? He'd tap dance across marble floors while wearing diamond shoes He'd be able to feed himself, and to laugh the way he used to He'd draw pictures for me like he did when I was little He'd be able to take everything that has ever existed, and rearrange it so it'd be perfect And he'd be able to take off his mask of Parkinson's

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