Offerings

The way he leaves a banana-mayo sandwich
on the counter. His special blend
of applesauce with too much cinnamon
brims over a white glass bowl. 
The scratchy blue-and-green-car sheets
left folded on the hide-a-bed. 

During your visit, 
he’ll take you to the buffet, 
but only between two and four. 
He’ll stand in line 
for a cup of water, 
but only if it’s free. 
He won’t ride the glass-bottom boat,
but he’ll lead you to the spring, 
make odd remarks 
while you gawk at alligators, 
scan seaweed for manatees. 

There will be no hugs, no 
I love you’s when you leave. 
You’ll have to scavenge for clues: 

The way he rises early to make you
tofu waffles. 
The way he hoses pollen from your car
before your 12-hour trip. 
The way he proffers a firm handshake,
a packet of sandwiches, 
a sack of bruised Red Delicious.