Monday Poem

“Did you like your father,” my friend asked?

The Tongues of His Black Boots Say

as my father sleeps the world goes on
his black boots are by the door
he left them there unlaced
the right run down at the heel
the left toe scuffed
his blue shirt hangs on a hook
wrinkled below the belt line
where every morning
its tails were tucked
there’s no forgiveness in pasts
just now and here, defeat
is the hardest epiphany
the tongues of his
black boots say

by Jim Culleny

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