Sunday, June 4, 2017


My father called me that once.
I was in second grade. We were
driving up Route One in his '53
Ford, to Bayonne. He'd just been
to get me at school, Parent's Day
or something, and had sat in the
last 1/2 hour to watch the class.
My mother too, they were both
there. Along the highway, he said
I looked good, but shouldn't put
my head down so close  -  as he 
said I did  -  when writing. He
proceeded then to show what 
he was meaning, by dipping
his head down to the steering
wheel. We nearly clipped the
center divider at 50. He swerved,
and we survived. Boy, I never
wrote like that again.

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