by Bob Bradshaw

The day I remember most is October 3,
1999. A man with auburn hair

was sprawled on your belly
as I entered the room.
Quietly I went back to the den
and came back with a

shotgun. That bluff
was the last time Red
mistook himself as the man
of our house. He jumped

from the bed and raced
out of your life.

Years later, every time you walk out the door
I want to shout out,
'I love you.' I long to assure you
that I have forgotten
October 3rd,

the way I have forgotten
the date of the Normandy landing,

but then when you walk back in
with the newspaper
I remember. D-Day
was June 6th,


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