Well, for what it’s worth, he said on the phone
Happy Valentine’s Day. I wanted to say then
but didn’t: It’s not worth much, and neither
is any of whatever this is we’re doing.
When I hung up the phone, I don’t recall
saying to myself in that exact moment
that if ever I had a daughter one day
she would never tolerate such insults.
Is it fortunate I never had a daughter?
I don’t know if, now, even I’d be able
to stomach such new levels of stupidity.
What I do have is four sons who always,
every Valentines Day, make me something:
a poem, a song, a picture, a bookmark.
For what it’s worth.
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