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Pat Hull: My friend’s dad

September 9, 2022 by PBQ Leave a Comment

I know exactly how to die 

I watched my friend’s dad do it 

I remember feeling shocked 

Watching him defog his glasses 

Hitting the corners in a room with a cobweb duster

Running back to the store 

Exchanging unsalted butter for salted butter

Going into his office to concentrate 

On a detailed restaurant review 

After being served an overdone steak 

His baldness was pure 

No shadow or stubble offering hope for rebirth

He seemed to need a reminder 

That he was dying 

I wish I could’ve told him 

That I whisper, ‘keep moving,’ to

myself

Every morning because of him 

Filed Under: Issue 103, Poetry, Poetry 103 Tagged With: Pat Hull

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