Clouds

He never saw

bunnies or faces

in the clouds

He was a practical boy

He walked around puddles

and never noticed

the hummingbird’s nest

in the tree

by the creek

He was a practical man

and never took

the time

to show his son

the wriggly worms

after a storm

or the joy of racing twigs

in the gutter

as the rain water

swishes by

Now he leans on

a practical cane

function over form

walking slowly

around puddles

to the empty mailbox

each day.

The cotton ball clouds

still turn pink at sunset

Look up.

Look up.

.Look up.

Kathy keogh

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