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In memory of my dad

My father and I, we check the locks–
that’s what the Abels do.
Neurosis passed along the line
just like his Craftsman tools.

I see him there, on his rounds,
nocturnal sealing rite.
Here I am, securing doors
against encroaching night.

There was a time when I asked
what does this signify?
Now we double check the doors
and do not worry why.

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