Running Distantly.

I remember these things,
the late afternoon’s lulling,
“G.I. Joe – A Real American Hero”,
the ‘Three’s Company’ opening theme,

the sound of an overhead airplane’s engine,
fading away to the south, as the evening draws in,
the sounds of a lawnmower, running distantly,
cutting down grass and sending the scent to me,

I remember the pipes in the walls that would moan,
a surefire way to know when someone was home,
the sound that the front gate’s dragging board would make,
the dogs in the back that always scared the Pizza Boy away,

Anticipation of dinnertime and seeing my Father’s face,
every evening, the hope of seeing him walk into our place,
the leaves skipping up our walkway alongside his tired feet,
the Gods blessed me with a Dad so dedicated and hard-working,

these things I remember, they are mine to recall,
only because of the good I had – my Dad, after all,
and I’ve never been sorry in the slightest amount,
for basking in his warmth before it was snuffed out.