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THE QUESTION
Even long after he had lefthis childhood behind, or suchof it as he had actually had,he could still stare up intothe night sky, at ceiling of starswith more than a little awe. And even though he had leftchildhood behind, no onehad yet answered the onequestion his parents duckedtime and time again, oneso simple a child…
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MASKING
The Air Force shaved our heads, was itbecause of the heat of a San Antoniosummer or that we’ll all look equally like fools,and easier for Sarge to maintain unitcohesiveness in his rag tag bandof semi-successful Army avoiders. Now we all wear masks and assumewe all look equally foolish, knowingthe virus cares nothing for cohesiveness,and normal…
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GOING HOME
They say you cannot go homeagain, although I have neverhad occasion to meet them. I’ve never been one to followthe dictates of them, unless theywere my parents or spouse, andin the case of my parents, oftennot even when they demanded it,so I went back to the homeof my childhood, a shockinglynew place as I remembered…
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FINITE LOOP
As it turns out, lifeis an ongoing process of accretionand deconstruction, of growthand eventual shrinkage. I started with 20 teethI am told, and got to 32,only to fall back to 23thanks to orthodontia and wear. We start with 270 or morebones, but we knit that numberdown to 206, or in my case under200, the orthopaedist’s…
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LOWER FLAT, BUFFALO
It was a small house, that muchI still remember clearly, not wide,what some called a railroad flat,but ours had two floors, as if tworailroad cars had been stackedone on top of the other. We, luckily, had the bottom, orat least that’s what my father said,and his varicose veined legs applaudedhis selection of our new home.…
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FATHERING
Recalling it now, the sight had to be absurd,and I suspect it was at the time,but as its beneficiary then. I darednot say anything, I’d mastered that already. My father in khakis and a poor excusefor a flannel shirt, Goodwill no doubt,but you had to have one just for occasionslike this, not that they would…
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WRITING MEMORY
It is well past time I wrote a poem about the great joys of my childhood, for memory should bubble up like lava through the crust of time, they should rain in flashes as so much matter dropping into the atmosphere in their ultimate light show. This isn’t going to happen, of course, whether because…


