5 Seasons at My Father’s Grave

Fall: No talking. Poured scotch on the headstone. He drank brandy.

Winter: Told him about Theresa. Stayed for an hour or two.

Spring: Picked up some trash–a plastic bag and a chicken bone. Put them both in my pocket.

Summer: Read some Yeats out loud. A train horn spoiled the moment.

Fall: No talking. Poured brandy on the headstone. It wasn’t his label.

Tagged as: brandy, chicken bone, grave, my father, scotch, Theresa, train horn