Thanksgiving '08

Thanksgiving 2008

My dad dozing in a chair
golden sun shines through leafless branches
the silver of his hair baring a patch of pink
childhood peeking through the ages
reminding me of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

It’s been wandering in the wilderness long
since we spent this day together
thankfully or not
we have the TV suturing the space
between awkward and wakefulness.

Ours is a family story of America
gaping at generations of crazy
its all relative reruns between
what’s on interruptions and what’s going on
interpretations and the search
for something better than the game