Saturday, November 28, 2009


I recall the smell of sliced turkey,
leftover droplets of cold beer at the bottom of a glass bottle,
and greasy, ridged potato chips: Ruffles, your favorite.

My small hands clutch a half-eaten peanut butter & jelly sandwich and a frosted Capri-Sun.

We make a good team,
sitting there in our backyard garage
as I watch you throw darts next to the mask with pointed horns.

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