Dad

I thought I saw you in town.
The back of your head, the familiar cap.
Your pipe, with those constant billows of smoke.
The accompanying cough.
But of course it wasn't you.
You had left years ago.


Not by choice, of course.
You didn't have a choice.
The awful disease saw to that.
I still miss you so much.
So when I saw the back of his head
and that familiar cap; I was sure it was you.
But of course it wasn't.
How could it be?