And old men arguing in early morning cafes.
He never knew me at sixteen.
Shutting in horrors of heroic death
And letting the mother do the discipline.
He never knew his own at forty one.
Stroking soft maroon almost asleep at the wheel,
Then waking up to such delicious smells.
She barely met the better part of me.
Trying desperately to forget inequities and
Remember the hours of backyard gadgets.
He never saw me outgrow anything again.
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