Sunday and Poppy
 

     There he sat- 
     a gray bearded man, 
     ash tray full of dingy 
     generic cancer sticks, 
     room dimly lit 
     and glazed with 
     a urinary odor and 
     yellow tinge. 
        Eyes- 
     doused with love and 
     excitement. 
         Beard- 
     clean, crisp, and groomed. 
         Hands- 
     swollen with fluid 
     and shaky. 
     Our habitual Sunday meeting, 
     card games, ice tea, 
     terrible treats and connective conversation. 
     The thief of time stole the hours 
     Mom and Dad called 
     "Let's go..." 
     A kiss, a hug, a departing smile 
     closing in on the hallway, 
     towards the door, 
     a grand force stopped me, 
     a tear cleared my eye 
     I ran back, 
     hugged and kissed him as 
     my eyes rained 
     and I cried out "I love you Pop!" 
             We left. 
     Next weekend, 
             He died!



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Raymond Pacello
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