NOT A FOUND POEM,
THIS ONE FOUND ME


Sitting on floor,
    my study,
              door closed,
     Sunday,
December 19, 1994,
           5:07 pm,
      listening to new CD,
Jack Kerouac
                explaining
the Beat Generation,
        when phone rings,
  and Jamie,
        my son,
answers
    upstairs,
              yells
downstairs,
    through door,
message from
       Jerry,
my dad,
      away
                  in New York.
Turned off
       CD
          to hear better:
    “Grandpa’ll be
home
            in an hour
     and-a-half. (Pause).
He says he’s
          on the road.”
And I said,
            but
of course.

 

 


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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