Fatherhood
by Peter Klein


When it became too much
he ran away
traveling by bus until he came
to a small town in the mountains.

He opened a diner, cooked
the simple meals his mother
had taught him as a boy
and became a familiar figure

wandering the streets after closing.
Seasons blew in from the west
while he dozed
in a chair by the window,

or worked late on the books,
his coffee cooling in a cup.
Rain washing away last year's leaves,
creased photos fading in his wallet.






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