|
The Wallet |
My father took off in the middle of the night,
with him at the wheel. Rumor has it he had
another long fight with my mother on the subject
of commitment.
The day my father left was very strange, I
went into the bedroom, there he left behind his brown
wallet and a wrist watch that I found on
top of the bedroom dresser.
I should like to call to your attention
to his wallet: battered, faded, and old, It smelled
of long days and warm beer. I opened it and found
a few George Washington's creased together, and a
picture of a naked woman that wasn't my mother;
the watch was busted, rusty, and useless. One
hand was lost the other never moved.
I dropped the watch into the garbage pail;
the wallet I kept and used until it fell
Apart of old age.
Now it’s only me that feels strange and
left behind. My feelings for him are like a
bowl of fish hooks, I take one out and they all come.
copyright 2013
Tim
Tipton |
