Some Good Thing May Yet Happen

What gives dignity to death is the dignity     
of the life that preceded it. – Dr. Sherwin Nuland
The summer of sun-scorched concrete
pockmarked with chewing gum,
Dad and I sat in his El Camino
in the parking lot of his apartment complex,
two blocks from Scandia Family Fun Center
where I spent most days scouring
the universe of carpet for lost tokens.
The sweat gathered at the back of my knees,
tickled my calves on its way to my flip flops.
I was eager for the air-conditioned indoors,
but Dad needed to tell me
right here in the heat of the car: He couldn’t be my father anymore—
a friend, maybe, buddy, not Dad.
I nodded, silent.
The memory is flipped now,
a backward negative,
so that in my mind
Dad sits on the passenger side,
me, beside him, thirteen,
hands gripping the wheel.

Patricia Caspers

2 Comments

  1. I am always moved by Trish’s poetry. And this one is even more creative and compelling than usual.

  2. Trish read it several times. Will bring your piece to obook group and share! Love the line of the sweat gathering …… memory is flipped, made me think and remember!

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