how buttons and zippers never line up

the first time you try

how easy it is if your sneakers are black

to clear a mud puddle

how the man with the dog looks a lot like your dad

if he kisses his wife like your dad kissed your mom

the way a woodpecker pecks at a tree

and whether his breath ever smells like your dad’s 

not sweet like candy but lemony sweet

if the dog chews his shoes like Scruffs chewed your loafers

if it chews all his shoes will he put it to sleep

if you drown in a dream will you die in the ocean

cups for communion and holes in your tights

and how Sunday mornings always seem sad

how that boy put his foot out and tripped you and laughed

how your mother had said

that means he likes you 

almost as if she was taking his side

how much it hurt like little things can

how when they hurt they’re not little things.