At lunch with Dad, the story lines unwind.
He's clear on who and where
but nows and thens get tangled
in a twist of knotted twine.
He used to manage complex webs of trends
suspended tight-rope tight from year to year
but now he hesitates:
he feels around to find a thread
that leads across the fear
and takes a step
and tumbles to the ground.
But what can I expect? He's eighty-nine
no longer called upon to entertain
the dwindling crowd.
When now and then entwine
we pull the knot apart
Despite the pain
he knows I'll break his fall
until this ball of tangled time
becomes no time