morning glory

i grow bell telephones when
i'm thinking of you. in the old house
before we were all so serious & big,
my father talked to no one 
in a morning glory. his lips
like a duck bill. at the park we fed
all the fathers white bread we bought
at the gas station. a fire truck drove 
to fill the future. when we talk 
on the phone sometimes i am your father
& sometimes i am your son & sometimes
i am your best friend. i buy seeds
or maybe i invent them. press those kernels 
into my head where i lost a tooth.
the past & the future are more alike
than the present. the present is like
a ringing phone that won't stop
even when you pick it up. i had a garden
on the porch in this timeline. 
i buy the whole street. we sleep together
one more time & make everything better.
no one is angry. no one is a father
to anyone. i find you in the flowers 
often. you are there with pollen pants 
just like all the bees. we could
have a really easy time moving into 
a cardboard place. i'll be the door
if you be the bell. we can cut a hole
where a telephone would go. do you remember
when phones were a location & not
a traveling voice? the last pay phone in
my hometown attracted so many fathers.
they wanted to talk to themselves.
i get it, i mostly do that same only
i have flowers to feed. i have a father
to comfort when his basement fills
with flowers. he once grew a garden 
at the church but couldn't keep up with tending it.
the morning glories talked to me about
how i would become a boy. i told them
to hush. to please give me more time.