I found him at the table in his white T shirt—

what he slept in—

at the head of the table, back to the slider,

5AM—the light about to change.


I couldn’t stick around. I had to go

stand at the end of the driveway

and wait for the cab to the airport—

I’ll never forget what I thought


I saw in the distance—

mountain lion or bobcat.

When they fired him he wasn’t sure

he could pack up


his wife, their two unruly dogs, his brown

leather valise and move on.


The flight was bumpy and I was lost

in clouds most of the way. To this day


I’m pretty sure it was a bobcat—

I’ll never forget the eyes


how they followed me

or the way my father’s elbows

rested on the table and his large hands,

that used to squeeze


the juice from my grapefruit,

held his head.


Photo By: e_monk