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I miss my father
and the way that he would
cringe when he took his first sip
off his cold can of refrigerated Pepsi.
Or the way he was so casually cool
with whatever pothole he would
find himself driving over.
He was a great smoker.
Not like the kind that struggled to imitate
someone they imagined were cool.
No, he was a natural.
It was clear to anyone who watched him
that it wasn't about addiction,
he actually enjoyed the whole process
the same way a small child
enjoys a sandbox or a frisbee.
Maybe someday I'll miss smoking,
or the sandbox,
I might even miss you.
Until then I'll miss my father,
and the hope that one day
I'd hear from you again.
1 comment:
The love for a Father. There is no duplicate , no substitute. When he leaves , he takes the knowledge of what is us , our knowledge of what is he. No relationship can ever replicate or replace that one. Somebody who knows us since our creation , since our arrival , naked and dependent , until the breach that burns like fire and leaves the scar of that burn forever. The scar is all we have left and we touch it daily , to make sure it is still with us in all of its hideousness and beauty . I know your pain , Mr. Root .
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