by Jefferey Cyphers Wright

Irk was one of dad’s favorite words.
Mom liked to pick up on teen lingo.
She said “stuff ” was “neat.”
She was a real people person.
She was chiffon and dad was concrete.
I walk in the valley where they met.
I walk in a “marijuana haze” (how
dad put it) in New York City.  He was
a quarter leprechaun.  She was half elf.
I caused them both a lot of grief.
I walk in ghost shoes, my words
a threnody belonging to the throng.
Had I shown more love I’d be less bereft.
My folks stay closer now they’re “gone.”