“Subscription Expired”
By: John Dorroh
The last time I saw my father
he was lying unconscious in a hospital
bed. He had white wings that filled up
the room.
I didn’t want to let him fly away
but what good would he have been
with riddled lungs and blood leaking
from every pore.
I wanted him to stay my father.
I wanted him to fill a need elsewhere,
some place new. He was like an old
magazine.
Outdated but still with words.
John Dorroh is as content sitting on his deck in Southwest Illinois reading new poets as he is while eating handmade pasta in Tuscany. He buys their books and highlights lines that make him say, “Why didn’t I write that?” His poems have appeared in over 100 journals, including Feral, Tilde, The Orchards, River Heron, & Pinyon. He has two chapbooks to his credit.