Peace be with you

"Stay Away from Guys Who Drink Michelob Ultra"

Rachael Duane

What I love about my father’s advice is 

how it’s bottled in a facility that processes 

all the nutcases and absolute knuckleheads 

 

he has ever met; bottled beside the carousel 

that loops a daddy-daughter dance, 

the 1990s passing unpackaged down the line;

 

how my father’s advice contains no warning label

considering the questionable history of woman 

showing up in her sparkly red number 

 

to dye the lonely night. But what I really love 

is the bit where my father pairs men with beer 

and me with the free market angels, soberly 

 

refusing the beer that is not beer but beer-flavored,

rejecting the boys who are not men but men-flavored,

and avoiding the hypothetical substance of love

 

that is not love but love-flavored. How merciful, 

my father, placing me there smocked in white,

far from the boy nursing a domestic in the corner.

 

How like my father he is when he frames me 

the object of stored up hopes, then uncaps

and extends what he has to offer.