Where are you?
I keep listening for you moving around
in the TV room,
walking downstairs to smoke,
making noise somewhere.
I know you're gone to West Virginia.
I took you to the airport,
for goodness sake.
Yet, I keep listening for you
moving around in our house,
so used to you being there.
I guess I'll take the Puli
out to pee,
and check on the Yankee score,
and have a snack
or just go to bed
and lay there
waiting for you to come, wondering
where you are,
missing you in my space
more than I imagined I would.
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About Me
- Under The Castor Oil Tree
- some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.
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