He was the last one left
in my dad's family
The youngest of five
and father of four
-
Second-hand smoke from childhood
would claim his life the next day
As he lie in his deathbed,
he received a visitor
-
What are you doing here?
he asked in the direction of an empty chair
"Who are you talking to, Dad?"
My brother Bobby.
"Where is he?"
He's in the chair, right there, don't you see him?
Now he's on the ceiling.
-
As I listened to this story
I thought, hallucinations
But how wonderful is that
if my father really did
escort his brother to heaven?
YOU ARE READING
Park Bench Poetry
PoetryTake a leisurely stroll through the park, sit on a bench facing the pond, and watch the ducks frolicking around the fountain. A woodpecker taps at a weeping willow, and a great blue heron takes flight from a small island in the pond. In these peacef...