By: Jim Bates

High on glue
No, wait
Not glue but being together
The young boy and his dad
With that model plane they were building.

Side by side
“Here, son. Let me help.”
He guides the boy’s hand
A slight adjustment
The wing fits perfectly.

Later that fall the father made a shelf for the planes he and his son built
Before he left for good.

The boy dusted it for years that shelf those planes
His mother never had to ask
He was drawn to the task by an emotion he didn’t understand
Deep in his breaking heart
He thought about building those models as he dusted
Each plane one after another
Damn
He gently caressed the lonely plastic
Those were such good times
Why did they have to end?