What Once a Dad

All I conjure is the

smell of paper, squalid

rooms fumed, tomes left

opened and cheap tobacco

smoked from pipe.

.

His desk tilt slight, old Mac

unix taut, green letters flicked

by my tiny wands, typewriter

rought to grab a sliv of brain

he once manifest.

.

Piss bag full. Draped in green

gown, he talked like he

knew us. Thought mom was

still a miss, still young, still the

rose; but, then in urn

to Cali, half-brother -

the real piss bag -

scattered his ashes

on the beach,

nonmagical.

.

Comment 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/y3bfgp/blue_bodies/is7vywd?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3

.

Comment 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/y3a0wa/college_ramble_1/is7xzov?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3