My father is measuring rooms, clipboard in hand.
Tape measure, pen, measuring for wall to wall carpet.
I step on the tape. It’s my job. I am seven.
I know how important it is for the tape measure to be straight.
I get to ride in the truck. We get breakfast
at a diner with the mechanic
named Lefty. No traffic on Route 17 this early.
Sunday, at the warehouse, I jump on mountains
of rolls of padding. My first and only skateboard
is a dolly. I ride it dreaming of being bigger and out
of this warehouse. But I want to spend time with my dad.
It’s his day off when our store is closed.