from ‘Remembering Kappy’
By the fourth game all of us were buzzed—
by vodka-and-tonic in my dad
white wine in me and my twin brother.
And while my dad took time to contemplate his moves
we two sang parts of doo-wop songs.
About to take our leave
my dad waxed lyrical about his wife, our mother—
now twenty-eight years passed—
wondering aloud that she was drawn to him
who had no future and just an eighth-grade education.
And I beheld this man—my heart in different state—
whom I had asked to leave my home a mere two weeks ago.
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