Dream #127 by James Babbs

my dead father sweeps
the floor of
the garage but
doesn’t look at me
when I circle the car
checking the tires to
see if they have
enough air and
I don’t ask him
for anything and
he never says a word
just keeps lumbering
across the floor
pushing his broom

Author bio:

Some of James Babbs' recent poems have appeared in Abbey, Gutter Eloquence, Underground Voices, Verse Wisconsin and Zygote In My Coffee. He says: "I work for the government but don’t like to talk about it. I like getting drunk and writing. I like Fall better than I like Spring. I like it when the tomatoes start getting ripe. I don’t like okra and never did but I could eat lima beans every day of the week."