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Over coffee buttered rolls and cool jazz
by Joseph Vega

I visited dad again last Sunday-
coffee and buttered rolls as usual.
This seemed to please him as he smiled and read
his morning paper- radio tuning
cool jazz at a whisper; but just enough
to be heard above the rustling of
pages being turned so distractingly.

He looked at me above his worn black rimmed
glasses and I felt the many years of
regret again in that sudden glance and
he then looked away at his cup or spoon.
Having never said sorry for the years
lost, from time to time his silent eyes try
to apologize but itís not enough.


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