Tells: All the same stories

My father has all the same stories

Tells about the moment I came into the world

His stomach and knees buckled

I was the only of his many children he saw enter the world

He was the first to hold me

Cried at the sight of me

Tells all the same stories

Tells of finding out about a girl being killed on the bypass in the newspaper

Later found out, she was a granddaughter of his

Tells about carrying my mother skates, the bow on the toe

How he got caught cheating with a girl in the backseat of a car

The next week my mother showed up with a new guy and he was mad

Had no reason to be but was all flames

He tells all the same stories

Forgets that when we last spoke it was of the weather

The light blue paint color in my now deceased grandmothers room

The dining room table, how it belonged to my brother

He too is dead

The same stories

The trip to LA to visit me

Not enough money

Always waiting on money

He is 63 now

Will not endure another winter’s cold without a woman

There is always a woman

Always a few waiting to be let in

My father has all the same stories

I have waited a lifetime to hear these same stories told in a different order

He is always nervous at first

Rushes his words, I can’t squeeze a word in

But soon he calms

Lets his breath catch

He laughs and tells all the same stories like new.

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