FIRESIDE WITH DAD
Man in a hand-me-down flannel. Burnt Sienna — a little yellow. An ordinary pattern of plaid. Old blues hug hips as he strides toward a pile of logs and twigs wrapped by an almost moldy tarp. He loosens rubber straps, wrestles over too many pieces; a game of pick up sticks holds him back from a damp march to warm comfort and familiarity. Passes a soggy tire, sacrificed a noosing for his amusement. He remembers when it broke once while he swung high and sang a song of Jesus and children. Old Ford being eaten alive by crabgrass and ragweed. He grips up on the pile in his arms, sighs, and inside returns to an old flame and a cold six pack, when life was forever and the weather no bother. Wooden steps, one creak third step up…just two steps away from a crackling mind. Wood loosening stiff joints and ceased memories.