Contributor: Phil Huffy
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I walked the old street last night
and found our former stoop now claimed
by other sweethearts.
The man was smoking. Well, the boy, really.
His squeeze seemed not to mind.
Mom told me, years back, and unguarded,
how attractive my dad had looked out in their skiff,
rowing away with a Camel in his mouth.
I don’t know if she regretted sharing that.
Quit smoking myself when they went to
a buck a pack.
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Phil Huffy writes early and often at his kitchen table in Rochester, NY.
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