Father’s Day (Sweatshirts)

Sweatshirts hang in my closet.
Older than even I, with more holes than
I can count on fingers and toes.
Smoke and old cologne
mix with cheap hair gel
to cling to the fabric.
and each time i pull one over my head
I am thrust back in time to when it was you
who filled the empty spaces, you who
stained them with beer and cigarettes.

Now, they hang in my closet
Damp, dark, and limp
Never forgotten.
Through the summer
and each passing year
I think of them.
I think of you.

Sweatshirts, older than me
swallow me as a I sleep
another dreamless night.




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