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Dedicated to my father, Nat: December 4, 1926 - July 22, 2007
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My father’s hands are now attached to my wristsÂ
I see his wrinkles, his raised veins, his sun tan color
I see his long fingers and his taut round knucklesÂ
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 descendÂ
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 sandÂ
Looking up, making last second adjustments, drifting back more and I jump, stretching, grabbing at the football
Cupping my right hand under the falling ballÂ
While twisting, raising my right shoulder
Rotating my body a-half turn in the air
Pulling the ball in, clutching it to my chestÂ
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
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