I was parked
in the Home Depot parking lot
and in my rear view mirror
I saw the back of my father’s head
and I immediately thought:
“look at him in that old shirt.
I need to buy him a new one this Christmas. That one’s too tight.”
as he loaded more stuff
into his truck
“and why is he always stooping over
like that?
Next week I’ll stand back to back
with him and
see how tall I am compared to him.”
I looked and
then he turned his head
and I saw the face
and I realized that it wasn’t my Pop
then I remembered
my Pop died seven years ago
and all these thoughts must have come
in less than a blink
and I sank in my seat
betrayed by my memory
that moved slower
than my wishful thinking
I remembered that it was my eighth Thanksgiving without him
and then I thought
it was only the
first eight Thanksgivings
of the rest of my life
without him
I tried not to be bitter
but I still wanted it to be
just a long protracted nightmare
I tried to not let it get me down
so I remembered to give thanks
that I had him for as long as I did:
thanks for the memories
and thanks for my memory
that works too fast
and too well
for it’s own damned good.
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