On this day of dissemblance,
who has entered my skin,
remaining incessantly in recliner
blanket lain on legs
as he sleeps away this sunny day?

In the last hours of the month
where last year
my father died
is he now wearing me
as his disguise?

I am sedentary.
I am sleepy.
I am alone inside
when the world is bright and bustling
just out my window.
On this day of the dead
I feel possessed by his spirit
weak and weary
with little reason for it.

I am haunted
by the body of my old man which,
for a guy who didn’t go in
for such things
is a pretty good trick.