One track mind

Tell out loud
how good coffee lingers
like nicotine fingers.
Remember now
how a curly head kid
had to keep up with Dad,
no proffered hand,
in a strange land
of cigars and racing forms.
*Outta my way, kid.*
And men behind wickets
spat out the tickets
but never did give money back.

And now, coffee cooling,
I think of tag-along days that are long gone.
And I remember how Dad always smelled of cigars,
though he never smoked one.
And how we came home from those days of loss
to a crying mother
and fights in the kitchen.

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