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Fridays
a rich and powerful c.e.o.
for all the pictures, he smiles
so fake. a carcass of a man
goes about his lifeless schedule
an inexplicable void fills him
up, he’s hungry but
the fondue is futile as he sits in the big booth
alone with only his thoughts.
the family meals on friday
they always asked what he felt like eating
he was never very opinionated
Father always decided for everyone
brother loved cheeseburgers
sister, a plain cheese quesadilla
he ate whatever
it was the words he craved
funny stories told over comfort foods
he absorbed it all
all that remains is
a dried sponge
a phone call, his mother.
dad is dead, services will be held
it has been years since
the family was in one place
remembering Father with a dinner out
a c.e.o. is filled with new life
he thanks his dad,
for one last supper
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