Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Dad

I am standing at the ledger stone on my father’s grave.

I had never seen it before.  I am 70 years old.

He died when I was 10 years old.  Took 60,

60 years for me to go the 65 miles to here.

 

I had been scanning and cleaning up old fampix

When I was intrigued by one shot of dad;

One of him and mom taken the month I was born;

Dad looks amused at whoever is holding the camera.

 

I thought I’d feel something standing here, but, no.

Too far away, too long ago; I wasn’t imprinting well.

Only vague memories, maybe just phony shadows.

“’Bye, dad,” I said and quietly walked away

 

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