Father Was A Businessman

Then we would wait for the plane to touch down          

your big sister would scream as

she was always the dramatic one in the family

(twice divorced before The Beatles)

You would rough our hair with your huge hands                     

Mother would straighten it all

no questions were asked of us                  

promises of special gifts brought back

In two weeks you would be gone              

leaving behind a smell of sweat

a debris of maleness                

raised voices           

Mother in constant sniffles

a day in the park   

buying us melted chocolates from the kiosk       

a block each

and soon                 soon              

(your blue eyes already out of focus in our memory)

a letter would arrivestamped with foreign writing                  

a precious stamp we fought over

requesting us to send 

our traced palms

on the thinnest of aerogram paper.