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Sextuple Dad

Nowadays I see my dad
in more than triplicate,
in fact duplicated several times.
Sat in a line or bent over,
walking slowly, frame propping up
his slender hopes among others the same.
A band of brothers, as always deranged.
I speak. “Looks like rain.”
His gaze is straight ahead.
“Son, it don’t rain but it pours.”
He says to the ward orderly.

4 Apr 18

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