How strange to see a bottle of Crown Royal
Reflected in a barbershop mirror.
A customer asked my father to save it
Until after a business meeting.
He died/ in a car wreck, minutes later.
I know dad went/ to the funeral
And told the widow about the bottle.
She said “why don’t you keep it, Frank,
My husband would have liked that.”
Once, when we suggested opening it,
Dad refused saying it didn’t belong to us,
It belonged to a man who was dead.
Ownership existing beyond the grave.
My father’s honesty was beyond reason,
What comes from experiencing war
When everyone’s everything is betrayed.
That’s why it’s not strange for me
To see a bottle of Crown Royal
Reflected in a barbershop mirror.
I know who placed it there and why it stays.

To ward off seasonal depression
Consider an autumnal decompression
Think of November
As a yearly comember
To address the chill
Start with layers of yourself
Then begin to insulate
Against sempiternal cold
Accept the darkness as a friend
You’ll find it opens
Like a book in your hands
You’ll find the hours
To have their own horizons
And in your mind
Create what time consumes