Monday, July 15, 2013


I have a friend who, like me,
has a couple of full-grown sons.
When the subject turns to them,
he spends a lot of time looking down,
his voice dims, his thick hands hang.

His oldest, especially,
doesn’t have much to say to him
these days. He won’t tell me exactly
what happened between them,
just wags his head and folds-up,
but I know my friend.

I can imagine mistakes
made on his part.
Maybe there was an eviction
or two or more until one finally stuck.

I know my friend,
how he lacks imagination.
I figure there was
a lot of looking into the sky
with upturned palms, but
I can only guess at such things.

Over the years, I watched both boys
pass their dad in height and humor –
could always tell they were his, though.
It was more the quick-draw laughter
than the brown eyes that gave it all away. 

I’d sit with a beer and watch 
them crack him up
then slide their eyes for a peek
at his laughing.
I’m not sure he ever saw that.

Well, he’s pretty closed most of the time.
Sort of opened-up the other day, though.
Surprised to have gotten a text
from his oldest,
there was a spring in his step. 

He showed me the message, 
Not trying to be mean.
Just need some space.
Showed me his reply, too,
Fair enough.

Northwind - Summer 2013

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