I am sitting across
from a very old man
separated by three feet
of space   from his body
at least fifty years
of time   from his mind 

he smiles politely
lets me draw and color
American flags and fireworks
because where he's at
Christmas trees make no sense 

if it were winter
he should be in Arizona
or working overnights at the slaughterhouse
biding his time until the friendlier works of springtime
tending to his fields
on the farm that he hasn't owned
since the 1960's
back when my mom was still a little girl 

he seems to appreciate my help
and stacks my finished works
into a neat pile
in the middle of the table 

we used to camp
and go fishing on Lake Pepin
but now these damned drawings
are all we have between us.