knocking on heavens door

it's a dark hall,

a bad band. grey haired
and pony tails,
with old man voices,

but people are dancing
just the same.

a woman from across the dance
floor comes to my table
and says to me.

you look just like my father.
you two could be twins,
separated at birth.

she's maybe sixty or so.
she doesn't seem drunk, and yet,

it worries me.
he was a handsome man, she says,
trying to take
the puzzlement off my face.

I pick up a spoon and look
at my reflection
in the curve of stainless
steel.

is he still alive, I ask her.
oh hell no,
he's been dead for thirty years.

I feel relieved a little.

dance? I ask her, as the band
makes a valiant
attempt

at Knocking on Heavens Door.
sure, she says.
come on dad.