Your dad says:
try to meet someone in the real world,
like I did.
I met your mother in Meatworld.

In the first five minutes you’ll know
what seventeen emails could never really show.

October takes me away
from a warm and suburban delivery
to a cold and uncertain new town
every year
where there’s no love lost
between us
but we’ll rub along just like it’s meant to be.
I’ll walk away with head down
every year.

You spend hours perfecting in art

what you can’t in any other part of life.
Learned nothing more than loved ones.
Found nothing more than self-preservation.

I don’t mind a crushing weight bearing down on me from time to time...