In memory

Remembering Dad. Yes, Lane, I know a collection of squirrels is not an army, but a scurry. Still army seems more appropriate somehow.

It is Christmas Eve day.

It looks like spring.

I don’t have to worry.

The only decorations

Are nuts in a glass vase,

A reindeer on top,

The Christmas bell

On the door handle.

Christmas will come

No matter

The Whos from Whoville

Are nowhere to be seen;

I did not listen

To Lessons and Carols

From England.

The pumpkins from Halloween

Fed an army of squirrels.

Yesterday

The remains went out

With the trash.

It is Christmas Eve Day.

In honor of my father

Who died 19 years ago today,

Who always shopped for Christmas

On Christmas Eve,

In memory of him

We consider Christmas

Today.

Magenta petunia

I found myself thinking about my Dad as I planted the pots in front of the house with petunias.  He called all flowers petunias.  There is one, unforeseen, unplanned, magenta petunia in the right hand pot next to the front door.  I see it and think about Dad.

He called all flowers

Petunias

No matter what they were

Really.

This year is the first one

I planted petunias,

Really petunias,

In the front pots.

We bought all purple

Except one bloomed

Magenta.

It is fitting

They are not all

The same,

These petunias planted

The day after Father’s Day.

He called everything that bloomed

A petunia.

It was his way.

He would appreciate

That magenta petunia

In the midst

Of a sea

Of purple.