The Innisfree Poetry Journal

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

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