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            There are too many poems about fathers.
Or not enough. I used to hate mine until
            I remembered the fortune teller’s theory
that my father and I are symbols of each
            other—maybe this is why in my dreams
I say goodbye to him last whenever
            I go on a mission across the river—We’re
a Tiger Father and a Snake Daughter who
            aren’t supposed to get along, the insistence
of tigers that they’re the leaders of the zodiac—
            the secrecy of snakes, like how the idea of
living a discreet life resonates so much with
            queer little me. A lover asks if my father
knows that I’ve kissed girls. I tell him that

men don’t need to know everything. Tiger Dads
            always do the most—or is the magical four
letter word actually best in this case. As a child,
            I took home the gold from math competitions:
use the four numbers on the card to create 24—
            I’d watch other children cry when they lost
their rounds, stoic little me staring at their tears,
            their mothers hugging them, saying they could
now leave and go to McDonald’s. How sad it is
            to lose and eat McNuggets, is a feeling I’ll never
know, because my dad was always the last person
            I said goodbye to before rounds—my lucky symbol,
two rivers cross—I don’t want to get all Freud,
            but my mother and I get along better in life,

            while my father and I get along better in dreams,
both real and imagined. In Kowloon, he takes me
            to the McDonald’s where he won a gold pen
when he was a young man. Tiger Dads only breed
            winners, and more stories where I inherit qualities
from my dad: his high alcohol tolerance, his habit
            of four hours of sleep per night, the assumption of
authority everywhere I go—the raw ambition,
            and I feel like Veronica Lodge in the episode
when she visits the guidance counselor who tells her
            that Veronica and her father are parallels of each
other. Like Veronica, I’m the desirable girl walking
            around like I own the place, whose father would buy
me a baby tiger if he could—pushing me to win at life.