The last time I saw my father he was wearing a toupee that looked like a year's worth of dryer lint, a worn-out Carolina t-shirt, the blue almost white now, green golfing shorts, and penny loafers
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[ a poem about being hard of hearing ]
i cannot hear the ticking of clocks.
i cannot hear leaves as they blow
or tires on the road.
i am a stranger to hearing your whispers
and talking on the phone.
i cannot hear the ceiling fan
or water dripping.
i cannot hear the sharp edges of your words.
they fade away
and i am forced to guess at the blurry shapes left.
i cannot hear the ticking of clocks.
i cannot hear leaves as they blow
or tires on the road.
i am a stranger to hearing your whispers
and talking on the phone.
i cannot hear the ceiling fan
or water dripping.
i cannot hear the sharp edges of your words.
they fade away
and i am forced to guess at the blurry shapes left.