Chris O’Carroll

“Mom and Dad Had a Really Stupid Fight”

I blame the Navajo for our dispute.
Well, first the state of Arizona, then
The Navajo, the Hopi, and again
The Navajo. All day we drive a route

That makes a shambles of our sense of time;
As hours morph, we’re growling at each other.
Our older son shrugs at his younger brother.
We’ve been insane before; they’re both resigned.

Arizona just says no to Daylight
Saving Time; the Navajo say yes;
The Hopi match the state’s contrariness,
Say no. Which hour is real? That’s what we fight

About. The Navajo’s vast reservation
Surrounds the smaller Hopi homeland, though
The Hopi also have their ancient foe
Surrounded, on account of the location

Within the Hopi borders of one piece
Of Navajo land. Exploiting this strange
Geography, the mad hours derange
Us with their to-and-fro conspiracies.

When Navajo land starts, time jumps one way,
Then at the Hopi border — switcheroo,
Until it’s Navajo time for a few
More miles before the further disarray

Of reentry to Hopi space and time,
Which lasts until that reservation ends
And Navajo timekeeping starts again,
Only to be, in its turn, left behind;

We’re back in Arizona, where, that night,
In our trip journal in our motel room,
Our sons inscribe the title of this poem
And make us laugh as if all clocks were right.

Boys, you may never know the hour for sure,
You may war pointlessly with ones you love,
But if you’re lucky, you’ll be fathers of
Kids who will know, if not the time, the score.