A leather chair

soft, spongy carpet, curled up like a perm.

One hall, 4 bedrooms.

A kitchen –

where my Paw Paw is

making his peach milkshakes.

Foggy, faux-glass cups.

Ice cream and peach particles

sliding down the throat,

soothing.

Golf on the TV –

more in tune with the wood furniture

than modern plastic.

An afternoon stretched out

like cloth on an ironing board.

Pressed, warm to the touch.

a pleasant nap.

My Paw Paw in his white undershirt

pleated slacks

whispy, disappearing white hair

and craggy nose.

Eyes as dark as wise.

 

Present.

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