My father was always in transit
between stray trains in a deserted way station
Surfing a halfway-house sofa
over the slow tidal flow of time
Patiently enduring long hours and yawning days
puffing on cigarettes
reading, dozing, drinking beer
Listening carefully to song lyrics and
scrutinizing television images
to decipher messages
from another world
On sabbatical,
passing through like a snowflake
Killing time
until time could kill him
and send him back over
Red rover, red rover
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