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Don’t Spend it all in one Place
My
dad gives me a tile coaster for plates
while
thin wisps of starving white wasp women
scamper
by on the hospital linoleum floor.
The
depression and eating disorders ward.
Rainbow
tiles carefully placed on the plate,
geometrically
shaped, show personal fatherly
effort:
“for your new apartment.”
In
the same breath, “the stock market
should
be going back up.” Ah yes,
the
stock market. That which money
was
steadily accrued then quickly lost.
That
which landed my father in this
florescent
ward of endless art therapy,
yoga
relaxation and deep breathing galore.
My
father a money whore tried to hurl
himself
over the tenuous mahogany banister.
He
sits in a plastic chair, I on a window sill.
His
fancy maroon slippers and dull eyes.
De-thawing,
no longer numb and aloof
my
father sits in despair.
My
dad gives me twenty dollars for lunch.
“Don’t
spend it all in one place”
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