I’ve had more fathers than I can hold

in my hands. Some of them raised me                            some didn’t. The one
with my eyes has sired       half of Pittsburgh. I swear I've seen them on billboards
            and taxicabs. In shopping malls, Dollar Stores, football stadiums.

I’ve caught a baseball in my bare hands, hiked a trail, slid a crackling snakeskin
between my fingers, slept to the sound of a lullaby.

Some had heavier knuckles when they hit me  some hurt me worse than others.
I’ve had fathers who were just                  okay. I mean
            what’s a father anyway if not just a man who teaches you      things.

I’ve had a Dad I’ve called “Dad”           

        but I’ve also had a “Daddy” and the girls who've gotten flowers at work,
        celebrated their birthdays in Vegas, will tell you that those two aren’t
        the same thing.                        At all.                           I’ve had fathers who've

held my hair after showing me how to drink whiskey, straight, no chaser
          and fathers who only drank Gatorade     when they coached or others
who were players
                        of all kinds                 hockey, swimming, some didn’t

know I was watching them from the stands, some invited me to their box seats.

A few of my fathers had money.    Like, money money, climbed Mont Blanc,
interior decorator, can afford to eat whatever they want money.
So yeah,
                                      I’ve had a few vegan fathers. A few carnivorous fathers,           

the kind who hunted           sometimes for girls  who were going                                   

         to be better cooks than I’d ever be.