You'll be sad when I get a job,
he said, when I can't cook for you anymore
and then didn't look up from his plate
because he knew I wouldn't smile
And he stayed at the table until he was done
and I had been gone for a while
He ran out of newspaper articles to read
and mail to render junk
Falling asleep with his head on the table
next to a sticky plate
planning out tomorrow's dinner
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