when I was a little,
every now and then my folks would say,
you're staying with Ollie tonight, okay?
we'd get in the car and drive way far away,
like taking the dog for a ride in the country,
I was pretty sure, though, you can't do that with kids
or more people would,
but anyway—
my folks would say, we need grown-up time,
to do grown-up things,
Ollie will be there, you'll be just fine
and we’d drive and we'd drive
and the houses got bigger, the yards got wider,
gettin' close, gettin' close, my folks would say
and we'd drive by pastures and rivers and woods,
a left then a right and there Ollie stood,
big fella ain't he, my dad would say,
and Ollie was big
and tall as the sky
and my mom would say, now you be good,
we'll be back in the morning,
don't give Ollie any trouble, y'hear?
and Ollie smiled,
he had bags in his arms
full of celery and lettuce and loaves of bread,
when the Food Giant closed he was all that was left,
his apron was white and he wore a bowtie,
I slept curled up between his big boots
with questions I had that would never be asked;
what grown-up things were,
what grown-up time meant,
how far does it ride down a road in the country
before the dog knows that it's not coming back.