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 The Visit

You stand there

at the foot of the escalator

waiting with your welcome,

your silver hair

combed for a change,

a frayed back pack

slung across your shoulders.

Do you still carry Colgate’s in it

like the time you brought it home

for me to mend?

You – my Hippie son

who gave up modern amenities

but kept his teeth tantalizing clean.

I feel love

crush me with your hug

and drown in the blue of your eyes

that even now take in the scene

creating mental cartoons

waiting to be sketched.

A ripped pocket

sags from a faded shirt,

your hearty laugh spills out,

and I know why I have come.