Too Little Remains

I have
Nothing but the memory
Of you
In your striped
Overalls
Smelling of summer
And cigarettes.

All gone
The sounds of
Boots on gravel
Early evening, tired sighs
Country music twanging
On the AM radio.

Forever missing
My young-boy efforts
To draw you into conversation
“What did you do, in the war
Dad?”

I wanted to know you better than
The man others knew
The ones who said
You were a good man
Calling me
“A chip off the old block.”

I don’t know what that means.

You cracked the door
But you never showed me
Who you were
And now I’ll never know.

We are both the less for it, dad.

You, because you left so little
Of yourself.

Me, because I cannot continue
What I never understood.

Too little remains.