Dedicated to my father, Nat: December 4, 1926 - July 22, 2007

My father’s hands are now attached to my wrists 

I see his wrinkles, his raised veins, his sun tan color

I see his long fingers and his taut round knuckles 

I remember running like I would never catch his long football passes

I could faintly hear his friend standing beside him say, He’ll never reach that. My Dad said, Watch

Running full out, will this football ever stop traveling and descend 

I could never throw as far as my Dad but I could run like the wind

Digging in, long strides becoming longer strides, get under that football

Legs stretching out twice as long, arms swinging, hands pushing the air aside

Legs pumping, racing, toes stabbing the sand 

Looking up, making last second adjustments, drifting back more and I jump, stretching, grabbing at the football

Cupping my right hand under the falling ball 

While twisting, raising my right shoulder

Rotating my body a-half turn in the air

Pulling the ball in, clutching it to my chest 

Landing hard on my back, on the sands of Sunset Beach

I did it, I surprised him again, and he smiled big and waved

I’ve got to quit smoking