The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by John McKernan

My Father Smiled

That snowy

December day

As he reached over

And scrunched the speeding ticket

Into the glove compartment

Speaking in a quiet voice with a slow tone

I had never heard before

To the very short policeman

And why are you looking at me now?

Sometimes in an elevator

In one of the great cities

I'll smell his after shave lotion

And look around at the empty air

I like that   I like that a lot