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Where Is My Dad, Again?
Introduction
Hello writers. before I begin my latest fictitious poem, I feel like it needs an introduction. I personally, never had to worry where my dad was. My dad was either at work or at home, and sometimes both. come to think about it, he was the first work at home employee I ever knew. he was a journalist, and the OG: wire editor Newman. Dad would get an early edition of the newspaper and read it in his recliner. he had what he called a red in color grease pencil. a grease pencil was kind of across between a crayon and a magic marker. he would sit in his recliner at home watching TV, as he circled mistakes like grammar and spelling which were printed in the newspaper. As he circled each mistake, in red.
He was Seldom gone overnight.
However, I do remember me and Mom putting him on a passenger train, and watching him leave to go to New Orleans, a few times. Dad did have quite a few appointments in New Orleans, and cities across our state, working for their local area newspapers. However he would always return within a matter of two or three days. And always with a souvenir, for me.
It was always special for me to see those big trains making all that noise and smoke pulling back into the station. Then in the Mist of all that smoke and steam. my dad, this Tall slender, good looking man, who look like an early…