View single post by timmy
 Posted: Fri Jun 16th, 2017 05:59 pm
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Joined: Fri Jun 9th, 2006
Location: Oz, Minnesota USA
Posts: 1079
Father, adjusted face.
Mother, plucked eyebrows,
dark hair pulled back, black
dress, no jewelry.

Father has the Brycreem
look in his hair he’s always had.
His eyes shine.

Behind them.
The white birch flower plot
on the corner lot, the weedy
main garden behind the garage.

Inside, the dining room table
piled with papers, sunlight
along the east windows.

I can still hear father whistling
Bobby Darin, cheerful, out-of-key.
He is busy turning his face
to the light. Mother looks straight
ahead. She sits like she has
her whole life in front of her.