for valentine’s day, to our son from my mother 
a set of legos: a bindle of blocks 
colored with the promise that you can lock 
together almost anything—another 
lie i’ve let linger. for years, my brother 
and i would build castles. airports. lunar docks 
and spaceships. then came the dismantling: mohawks 
with skateboards; r movies; first dance, car, lover. 

but again i’m telling stories in plastic. 
this will hurt a lot, i say, voice metal-frizzy. 
my name is doctor robot, and i can read 
your blocky mind. my patient’s complaint is drastic: 
head snapped off. but our son laughs. he knows it’s easy 
to heal. we can rebuild whatever life we need. 

B.J. Best is the author of three books of poetry: But Our Princess Is in Another Castle (Rose Metal Press, 2013), Birds of Wisconsin (New Rivers Press 2010), and State Sonnets (sunnyoutside, 2009). I got off the train at Ash Lake, a verse novella, is forthcoming from sunnyoutside in 2015. Visit him at bjbestpoet.wordpress.com.