Mismatch
by Bob Bradshaw


Mom and Dad were as different
as poles on a battery.
She watched My Fair Lady.
He watched NFL highlights.

She said she could read him
like a stone in clear water.
Dad said following her conversation
was like following a rock
in an avalanche.
Who could keep
up?

But he liked being in the same room
with Mom, as did our cat. She was a patch
of sunlight. Her warmth
attracted him.

But what had Mom seen in Dad?
His dry humor, perhaps. Or maybe it
was those Saturday afternoons
when Mom would rush home
during our soccer games

returning near the game's end
to encourage us to do
our best. And as she
embraced us there was the scent

of Dad's cologne mixed
oddly with the fall

air.










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