January 19, 2010
My father had uncharacteristically hairy arms for an Irishman. His brothers use to tease him about it, saying he’d been fathered by the old Greek from the laundry. They all had hairy arms, but he was the youngest, and the last to conquer logic. After he turned 60, my father visited a new skin doctor [...]
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December 16, 2009
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 [...]
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