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John Hayes
Poems
Dec 2020
Talking to My Son
The phone rings and it’s him.
He’s in Colorado.
I can’t forget the day he was born.
It was at noon, and I had a final exam
that morning.
It didn’t matter, they held him up for us to see.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How are you”, I ask.
“Fine”, he answers.
He wouldn’t remember that day.
Written by
John Hayes
78/M/Pittsburgh, PA
(78/M/Pittsburgh, PA)
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