me and my dad used to
fight over who
got to have the coveted, comfy, not-made-of-disgusting-yellow-foam
feather pillow
it wasn't really much of a
prize, I guess--
the feathers were so dead the
thing was practically
flat
but
it's the principle of it, the status that
a feather pillow brings to
my sleepy eyes-shut head

most of the time,
I won
he probably let me because
well
he loves me and
that's what parents do
But
he'd still fight
for that pillow he knew
I couldwoulddid fight
back

now, I walk into my bedroom and
see that feather pillow
already on my bed,
clean sheets,
neatly arranged

I wish for the fight

I remember,
Back in the old days
When life was simple,
Kids
Playing around,
Having fun,
Laughing.

The park near my house
Filled with life,
Looked like a painting
Animals,
Flowers,
People
All happily together.

The old memories
Share from grandfather to father,
From father to son,
Never being forgotten

From generation to generation.