Welcome
Every so often my father comes over, to visit,
sips his coffee and smokes a Camel cigarette.
I brief him on recent developments,
while playing songs on my guitar of distant laments. He is surprised that I look so decent,
he remembers how I looked the day he went.
I look forward to our sporadic meetings,
eager to share with him, my greetings.
I am always left with a sense of peace and comfort, despite the streaks of tears that trail down my shirt. Since that rainy February day,
I can still see him smiling the exact same way.
Grinding his teeth until the creeping of the morning’s light, its these idiosyncrasies that bring me much delight.
I can smell him drawing near,
he hints of Grey Flannel, it is clear.
I can hear him knocking at my door,
telling me to worry no more.
There is so much that will be said,
that sometimes I forget he is dead.