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Contributor: Steve Isaak

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Watching a Godzilla flick alone,
wishing my eight-year-old
kaiju eiga buddy
was here.

He, too, had a b-movie sensibility.

His made-up paper games
& wild scenarios
reminded me of my boyhood self,
his sudden mature gazes
& silences
betraying another veracity:
he was too often alone,
imagination his only companion.

I smile fondly,
wishing I’d been better
with him & his mother,
who confused angry volume
with violence,
whose drunk, tempestuous nature
turned up that volume,
like Godzilla’s siren signature roar,
no long monstrous,
but forgiven.

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