Waiting for the mail

Morning sunshine through a second floor window
9:30 am, post coffee, already dressed
Talking with my father about
the day. How to make a day.

I am waiting for a cheque in the mail,
he says. The mortgage is due tomorrow.
Unemployed four months, the
insurance covers mortgage and groceries.
Stops the hemorrhage, he says.

I calculate how much cash I have on hand.
It’s not enough. Can I get a
wire transfer from my bank in
New York? Is that possible from away?
Half a life ago we sat in
this southern-facing sun and
counted twenties. Handing over
babysitting money for the house.

10:30 passes. The mailman is on the street,
dad says. I am unable to type, to read.
I put my head down on my knees.
11:00 and he passes the house.
No mail. Dad leaves.
Comes running back. I met him
on the walk! Spotted with sweat
he bikes off to the bank.