old times

March 8, 2013 § 4 Comments

every so often –
when I’m
fiddling with something
out in the garage
or watching a grandkid
or two cut through
the small space between
the apple tree and
fence I’ll feel a hand
on my
I know better
than to look
I will feel it again I know
maybe while walking
through snowpack
back from picking
up a quart of juice
and a scratch-off lottery ticket
or as I reach
past my sleeping wife
to shut down the lamp
on her side
I will feel
that light
touch of some
lost friend
putting in time now as
an agent
of death
trying to feel the
old times again

(c) Fred Whitehead


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