a gravelly whisper
“what are we waiting for?”
the white wavy hair crowning
face full of confusion
leaning to the right in
the wheelchair
no strength left to sit straight
this man of straight corn rows (and desks)
perfectly placed scrabble tiles
and the three point sermon
“what are we waiting for?”
“we aren’t waiting, dad, I’m here for a visit.”
little remembered
nothing enjoyed
What are we waiting for?
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