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My Father's Shot Glass

So engrossed was he

    in that miniature object,

         gazing into it so attentively

               with such devotion and attachment,

‘til he carelessly neglected his

     duties that were his true passage

          to manhood.

He could’ve nursed and cradled

     me within his fingertips,

          sung me a goo-goo-da-da

                drunken lullaby while gazing

 into my eyes for his reflection,

      telling me stories of the past, present,

         futures of us, as he realized

that I was the best part of him

      and he a God in my eyes.

He could’ve placed me to his lips

    and threw his head back

         and consumed his fears ‘til

                the very last drop

and raised me, his son, to the sun

     and spun us around

           ‘til we were hysterically

Delirious with joyful giggles

   then fallen to the ground

          with me enthusiastically


“Again! Again!”

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