when thinking,
pondering the world,
where he went wrong
with his children,
he liked to stare out into
the distance
at the ceaseless crawl
of ocean and waves,
and stroke his greying beard.
his children left
him alone
when he did this.
they stood on the screen
porch drinking
manhattans, eating
olives from toothpicks,
and whispered to themselves,
don't bother
him now, he's thinking.
we can ask him
later, when he's not.
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