heredity.

my father in his sweats and ragged brown slippers, standing outside
- in the early hours of dawn after another sleepless night, with the old broom
in his hand, sweeping the snow off of the porch as he puffs a cigarette.

this morning, after laying on the couch for several hours, I got up,
- put on sweatpants, went out to the porch in my slippers and swept off
the snow as my lips touched a cold menthol cigarette and thought
- why am I this memory?