Peanut butter and jelly he would sing
leaning heavy on the buggy.
His oxygen tank rattled from the bumping
of the lose wheel every shopping cart
possesses. Between whistling
and singing, we never really did any real shopping.
The way his pinup tattoo would dance faded blue
every time he would reach for a jar of pickles.
His exhales hung thick in the air like
smoke when he talked to me about cartoons.
Created: Jul 21, 2010Document Media