My Father In Blue

Looking down the sidewalk
and there’s my dad,
now three years gone,
sitting on the sidewalk
between the front walk
to my mother’s house
and the corner.

He’s wearing a blue sweatshirt
and blue pants — not jeans;
he never wears them.

He doesn’t look up,
does not see me, does not
speak — maybe he’s looking
at a cellphone? No,
he never had one.

My father doesn’t see me
looking his way. I don’t see him
looking this way. I look away. Why not?
Neither of us feel the need
to see the other. It’s just the same
as it ever was.

But — yes,
I am wearing, by chance,
a blue sweatshirt and
blue jeans
on this day.
I find myself
in blue. And I look
away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T