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The Interview

Uncle took me to an interview,
a visit with my Dad,
sitting
in rumpled institution grays.

He looked at me;
I looked at him,
he said,
"Hello how are you?"

We hadn't met in fifteen years,
I remembered him with love.
How we sat along Mill Creek
where he formed a water wheel
with slats and wire
hanging between two rocks.
He made it just for me,
just for me.
I loved him then,
wished he'd never leave.

Now today,
he turns to Uncle,
my Dad,
he turns to Uncle and asks
"Has he been to prison yet?"
that's what he asked,
what he had to know.

Now I tell my Dad
 "No, I've stayed out of trouble
I've never been in prison
hope I never will be;
I've been lucky so far."

Now my Dad
he kisses me on the cheek,
hugs me and
we don't cry,
my Dad and I,
we'd never cry.

Uncle takes me back,
back to home
but not really,
not to home.

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