Smoking With My Dead Father Poem by Smoky Hoss

Standing under the street lamp
on the corner of Past and Future street
my father stood smiling, and smoking.
He always smiled.
I'd never seen him smoke
though knew occasionally he would.
It was late evening, and
he had died
so many long years before, but
I heard him calling
so I went to see.
He was dressed impeccably
1940's style.
So young, handsome
and alive.
I knew he was dead; and
I knew he was right here
beside me.
We stood in the light
just us two.
I can't recall what words passed,
but we smoked and joked,
laughed and lived,
there in the moment
in that little bit of light
shining through the night.

When I awoke
the sun was just coming up
peekinginto my small glass window
saying, 'Rise and shine'.
I heard it calling
so I went to see.