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Image for post
Photo by MissMushroom on Unsplash

Sometimes, when I hug my children,
they refuse to feel like mine.
I am still that young boy
riding his bike to the soccer field.

A summer spent whacking weeds,
dodging stones, and drinking
schnapps on the beach with drifters,
hitchhiking to and from

canneries killing all the fish.
Those guys were so old —
bearded and clawing their way
to a seat at the table.

I’m their age now. I sit
where they sit, and my kids
will drink schnapps on the beach,
and hopefully dodge the same stones.

© Trapper Markelz 2020

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Written by

Husband. Father of four. Cyclist. Musician. Poet. Sci-fi enthusiast. Writes from Boston, MA.

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