Email To My Brother: Rubber-Bottomed Socks

Our father walked into the kitchen for breakfast and he was shaking in his rubber-bottomed socks.
     “I just had a HORRIBLE nightmare,” he told me, his voice trembling.
     “What is it, pop?” I asked him.
     I was honestly concerned.
     “I dreamt that your brother got the Caronavirus.”
     “And the horrible part was that he died?”
     “No, the horrible part was that he LIVED!”
  
  

Raising My Father

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JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee

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