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 Sep 2016 Lina
Doug Potter
Harold
 Sep 2016 Lina
Doug Potter
It is hard to say father;
the thought of you stumbles through me when I see
a Gerber baby food jar or a wooden pop crate.
Once you came to mind when I saw a Polish flag
on TV; that is humorous because
the only Pole I know is a pale man at the gym
whose left eye is shaped like a rotten pear.
Do you still burn your fingers when you
fall asleep smoking in a recliner?  I hope
you still do not trim your fingernails while
sitting on the toilet stool; that seems so un-American.
Today is your eighty-fourth birthday;
I hope wherever you are you do not think of me.
If you could only see
One color
of the rainbow and beyond
What- how could you decide?
Red
 anger, love, elmo and stop signs
 i'd give you roses - not just a dozen- a flower shop full
Orange
 fruit, sherbet, traffic cones and tigers
 i could watch a billion sunsets- if you would just hold my hand?
Yellow
 lemonade, fear, highlighters and dandelions
 you are my sunshine, my only sunshine
Green
 luck, mint, leprechauns, and grass
 i'm envious of her, though her significance is debatable
Blue
 rain, robin eggs, sky, and oceans
 could i cry with you? i'm still not sure.
Purple
 mountains, shadows, lilacs and royalty
i'll bake you a mulberry pie, dripping with juice and made with love- that eternal 'secret' ingredient

As for me, I'd choose brown.
Brown for honest earth, for rich dark chocolate, for tall reaching trees, and for coffee dark as night, hot as hell, strong as love.

For your smooth skin, warm and vibrant.
An inch away from mine, I wonder what it would feel like to kiss you, soft and sweet.

But I look away, laugh with my friend, watch the black evening outside.

And sigh.
What's your color?

— The End —