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CRAZY
When we talk about the old man
(my mother rarely)
My brothers and I all the time about how crazy he is
with his demands for tub baths
And Tommy Dorsey music in the middle of the night
we thrust my father's name between our teeth like a matchstick
We are cocky we say
eighty years old Alzheimer's
the sulphur is a dull chemical on our tongues. But
because we lived in his house Once
when he was young with all his wits about him. It is a bitter stick
we chew.
No one of us has forgotten
what a crazy tune we played then
when his hands were about our throats pressing
our windpipes like trumpet keys
Seattle Review
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