Smoke Rings

Smoke Rings

Today I ate American cheese on a roll 

lettuce and chips too;

unconjured, dad visited with his ’59 turquoise Pontiac Catalina

father and son reflected in the chrome ribbed dashboard –

bling before bling was bling –

V shaped chrome tipped tail fins wayyyyy in the back,

hanging out listening to Cousin Brucie

enjoying

nothing else, together the  only agenda

he knowing, as I do now,

those days wouldn’t last

somehow imprinting me unawares

coding my DNA while

I drank a Coke and he blew

Pall Mall smoke rings that bounced

off the pink aluminum framed plate glass window of the diner that

overlooked a winter stilled ferris wheel and

the light that had a green right turn arrow with no one there.