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The Interview Uncle took me to an interview, a visit with my Dad, sitting in rumpled institution grays. He looked at me; I looked at him, he said, "Hello how are you?" We hadn't met in fifteen years, I remembered him with love. How we sat along Mill Creek where he formed a water wheel with slats and wire hanging between two rocks. He made it just for me, just for me. I loved him then, wished he'd never leave. Now today, he turns to Uncle, my Dad, he turns to Uncle and asks "Has he been to prison yet?" that's what he asked, what he had to know. Now I tell my Dad "No, I've stayed out of trouble I've never been in prison hope I never will be; I've been lucky so far." Now my Dad he kisses me on the cheek, hugs me and we don't cry, my Dad and I, we'd never cry. Uncle takes me back, back to home but not really, not to home.
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