Where’s Dad (A Trickster Poem)

Where’s dad?
My daughter says,
standing halfway up
the stairs in her snow-
white pajama gown rubbing
the crust from her good-
morning time eyes.
I don’t know, says my
son who’s sitting on
the couch, taking
advantage of my absence
with his head buried in
his phone.

She whines a little and
scurries down the stairs

to

run and jump on the couch.

I’ve been hiding on
the ceiling, in fact
I am the ceiling, and
roof, draping over them,
suppressing a chuckle.

As the silence lingers, I
cascade down the walls
and become the couch and
floor too. Still,
they don’t know
and the calm

silence scatters like sand in
an ocean of sand, and turns to
fear.

I can’t help it,
I know I should tell
them, but they’re
sitting on me, for
god’s sake, they should
know I’m here,
they should know
I’m here. They
should know.

Author: Buddhadoshā

Buddhadoshā loves you.

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