That job

By espacioreal | elespacioreal | 8 Jan 2021

I learned to read
with old magazines that father brought
from a second job he had
to be able to support ourselves. So
I invented a love for letters
and a hatred of that job
that separated me from dad.
I do not care
that fiction today
be pathetic. Time passed
and I look in the mirror and hug
the resemblances to his face,
although before I wanted to erase them from me.

Poetry

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