Wednesday, June 23, 2010

for r.g. hancock, with love

he is old spice and the faintest whiff
of cigarette smoke from that one before dinner
a man who refused for so many years
to just curve the brim of his baseball cap

he is working on saturdays and always trying
to do a good job, feed all those girls
who scramble into the bathroom after him
that's the one thing he gets: the first shower

and my memories of crawling onto his lap
thick denim and plaid, comfortable and comforting
giving his cheek a goodnight kiss,
joking about the whiskers left in my lips

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