To him, it was a clear blue day;
His father came in the kitchen
Wearing a brown fedora;
He walked out of the morning chill;
Long puff of cotton strand pulled across the sky;
As the teacher sat in the classroom talking to his class,
this was his memory for Thanksgiving Day.
He never said where the father had been.
Was he a visitor-- did he go for milk.
The crisp morning air meant more than
the father's purpose.
Yet in the story, you knew the English teacher
longed for his father.
He drifted from the class to that time.
Poetry in his heart wasted on a rainy day in high school.