DAD'S ROOM
Foreboding, heavy
footsteps, one
bulb dingy white.
Then the darkness,
the pungent
stagnant room.
On the closet door
a jacket, old
shoes, the gloom.
A Vicks jar,
aspirin, curtains
drawn apart.
Sealed, sick smell
that lingers on
My anchored heart.
by Lora Mitchell
Copyright (c) 1980
New Life Publishers
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