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
