My dad was away. A lot of fathers were away.
Some of them did not come back. Mine did.
I remember driving to the airport in Miami to get him.
The war was over. My mother needed gas. She didn't have
enough ration stamps. The man at the gas station gave Mom
some grief about it. She laid a guilt trip on him. While Dad was
overseas fighting he was getting rich off of civilians, like Bebe Rebozo,
the Used Tire King. You 4F son of a bitch. You malingering motherfucker.
You war profiteer. You Republican. My folks were New Deal Democrats.
They remembered the Great Depression. I was a liberal. Weren't you?
I was a progressive. A leftie. The old Greenwich Village
coffee house and bookstore folk music mystique.
I read Waiting for Godot in 1953.