Across the parking lot, I saw a man walking away
from me. He wore a flannel jacket, plum and deeply
turquoise colored, a combination I despised.
He wore a baseball cap with the brim slightly
tilted and his shoulders were just that little
bit rounded, as though he had shrugged and
forgotten to return to straight.

The catch in my throat was of course, instant.
you know it reminded me of you. That tilt of the cap’s brim
is cliche for the devil-may-care, and in your young days
I knew a hell’s worth of devils was in our eyes,
though a softness came over the rip-roaring
twinkle when your eyes met mine. A
hind of apology too, for the partying
that you could not resist that kept you away
from home when we needed you there.

As you grew older, and the service wounds took their
toll, the world took most of the imps from your eyes.
The cap’s brim still turned at an angle, and your head took on
a tilt of its own, so that your exhaustion showed in all
your living. Strands of hair that escaped the confines
of the cap turned from copper ringlets to dusty brass,
and the football-hero shoulders became hunched
around your tortured breathing.

When the miles of long-legged walking ended, and
became a trip to your garden accompanied by your
oxygen tank, you grew the best beans and
raspberry canes anywhere, and your blueberry
patch gave us joy all year.
You still shared giggly moments
with the family you cherished,
and I know your love grew richer with the years.

All this weighs on the catch in my throat as
the man in the jacket walks away across the
asphalt. I’m left with bitter and sweet, an
eternity of feelings, all written in the colors
of that jacket.