by Larry Strattner

My father died,

I took his clothes,

really not in fashion.

I need to get inside his skin,

I couldn't while he watched me.


In life we were so far apart.

Now I put his pants on,

knot his tie,

don his coat,

wear his shirt,

I am him.


I wish we could have known each other.

It's far too late for that.

In addition to the clothes I chose

He knew some things I might have used.


My son is a larger size than I,

his thoughts, as mine, obtuse.

I watch him move inside his life.

I should have saved my father's shoes.