You are multiplying from my childhood
home, but who would want to enter
that overgrown field? All I’m saying is
two signs on the pole might be a few too many.
 
Hammer that emotional effort to something else.
Paint something wiser on that scrap wood.
No one’s asking you to invite but a little imagination
never pulled the hordes of stinging wasps closer
than you’ve already done. All I needed was a picture—
where my father threatened to drown us, laughing.
In that picture the water looked exactly like a road.