Terminal Resemblance

When I saw my father for the last time, we both did the
    same thing.
He was standing in the doorway to the living room,
waiting for me to get off the telephone.
That he wasn’t also pointing to his watch
was a signal he wanted to talk.

Talk for us always meant the same thing.
He’d say a few words. I’d say a few back.
That was about it.
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