MOVING NOWHERE, DAD

How many suspected when
I reached my hand out toward
the empty bench that I was
trying to touch yours the way
I used to on my daily walk?

My fellow walkers keep moving,
while I stay stuck in place,
circling our reservoir, time racing
the stopwatch, running through
my fingers, with only memory
locked in one mind's embrace.

September 30, 2016



All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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