Papa

The last time I remember being with him while he

was in his right mind we were driving his beat pickup

into town for supplies and he still called me “Jeff,”

and we babbled about nothing, batting averages

on-base percentage, who was gonna take

the American League pennant and I smelled

him, the Afta aftershave he wore, like when

I was six and he instructed me how to shave

with cheap shaving cream, an old straight razor, and

that aftershave I wore through high school to remember him,

that scent, after his body was dead,

that night, that drive, him, in his right mind;

I rolled down the window, and the night

was so cold I shivered and shivered, the headlights

were twin cones and we babbled about nothing;

Later we returned home and tho his body

left the truck, I don’t think his mind ever did

because he started calling me “Boy” and

he didn’t remember batting averages, on-base

percentages, or what the American League pennant was,

his eyes were glass and he smiled too much, tho his

frail and shaking body came home, his head still was

in the truck, driving in the dark, twin cones, the cold

but no one could have taken that ride with him,

that time he had to go it alone.