early saturday morning i woke
to a smell lost over winters breath,
that of barbeque and meat

stepping outside i could see the
smoke down the street so i walked
down

black man by the name of Myron
was sitting on his steps watching
as these rabbits jumped over top
of one another

he noticed me and motioned me
over

jumping off the steps like a old
man turning young again he
grabbed a white paper plate
and opened the grill

what is it about black men and
bbq, how do they cook it so well?

thanking him, i said i should go,
there was a ton of meat cooking
and i didn’t want to interrupt his
family function

Myron mentioned he lived alone,
that his wife Glenda had passed
away three springs ago and the kids
have all moved away

staring at him closer i realized how similar
Myron was to my own father, only a different
color

my dad sits on the porch during the day sometimes
and i wonder what it is he’s thinking about
when he sits out there

i imagine it’s the same thing we all think about,
death … when is it gonna happen
but before we die we worry about other things, too

like is this our last meal?