Nothing is as it Was

Lilies for the algo

Sometimes I dream about my dad like he’s back from the dead but still dead too

Haunting the upstairs in 3rd floor attic quarters confined as you’d expect a ghost to be

Very ‘70s aesthetic, thick carpeting and huge double doors opening inward his brown dresser and bureau covered in papers and change mimeograph ink everywhere staining the walls and his dirty T-shirts and the ghosts of Arrow Wholesale are everywhere. Matchbox car displays, blister pack stickers and cards and combs and clip-on sunglasses and Rubbermaid…

He’s old but we’re the same age I’m just stained with a different kind of ink

Pencil in his mouth half-chewed as he searches for something in an old metal filing cabinet filled with yellow legal pads covered in his looping scribble, old orders and invoices and credits. WCRB in the background playing the Pops and everything is familiar at once and I’m 8 years old again sitting in awe at his whirlwind of activity except I’m not 8 and he’s still dead