Lucy and I clanking down the street in the hot afternoon sun;
her with I.D. tags, me with Buddha, labyrinth, OM.
Lighter fluid fills the air barbecuing for our fathers.
Our fathers are gone.
I remind my sons to call their father.
"Our Father" was Dads favorite prayer.
We often recite it at the end of our recovery meetings.
I want to say the "Hail Mary";
I want to say "we" and "she".
I want peace.