| this week’s last load of laundry has me stealing my son’s precious teenage time I reenact the duty of my father and what comes hammering back are trips with him pushing his cart of dirties down the street his southern charm waving or shaking hands—: bus driver mailman neighbors get countless invites to dinner or a Saturday bbq my father’s good morning darlin’ clanks & pings as quarters spill into the bona fide grip of the present my son’s hands show signs he’s ready for the tedious work ahead as he storms through pile after pile then his precision when offering assistance to a stranger this chore becomes a lesson for the two of us this shared work turns and tumbles neatly folds—: a fond memory Copyright © 2016 F. Douglas Brown. Used with permission of the author. |
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