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Father's Gone
By Dennis Lee

It was just distance
confusing perception, not
motion swinging the brain
into the skull like a slab

of meat on a hook in
the frozen-locker downtown
Chicago, in the heat of
a summer when the Sox

couldn't lose, as we
sat in the bleachers with
hot dogs painted yellow,
beer cups dripping with

Sunday, a promise kept
too late in season, a
silence too big for the
hometown crowd.


DENNIS LEE has had poetry published in RATTLE, Poetry for the 21st Century, and Modern Haiku. He grew up in Brooklyn, where he had a baseball signed by a real Brooklyn Dodger at a five-and-dime store.

© 2002 Dennis Lee


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