View single post by timmy
 Posted: Tue Jan 15th, 2013 10:13 pm
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Joined: Fri Jun 9th, 2006
Location: Oz, Minnesota USA
Posts: 1085
I tell them I now eat
herring and kipper snacks
from a tin; how I wait for the mail,
the paper, anything with prints;

I also tell them I walk quickly
from upstairs mirror to down
stairs mirror, order Happy Meals
from the drive-up window,

all the while pretending my children

are still young and snotty

I recall strange things: bell bottom
pants hanging over my honeymoon
headboard or sitting at my mother’s
funeral watching a flower wilt

and drop onto an air vent,
spraying red petals over my shoes 

or being with Dana under the school
bleachers at a football game, my head

between her exquisite breasts beneath

her soft white hooded sweatshirt

or my father’s English Leather,
the smell of his Pall Mall cigarettes,

the burning leaves of October in our back

yard behind the Beach Road house,

frying bacon, vanilla, French toast
with maple syrup smothered in butter,
just the way father liked it when
he turned fifty five, the way mother
made it when she turned fifty five