In order to view this poem with the line breaks the author intended, we suggest reading it on a computer screen or in the landscape orientation on your phone or tablet.

When You Move Out
Fred Carroll

When you move out
You will discover
Things you hadn’t seen
Since the day
You moved in.
In the very back
Of the hall closet
Was my father’s overcoat.
It had managed to remain
Un-donated for 30 years.
It had been pressed
By other relics
Into its unlit sarcophagus
At the end of
The hanging rod
Of that long closet.
I brought it into the light.
It has been used,
But not worn out.
I thought I could
Smell his cigarettes
And his fondness for beer.
Of course, I tried it on
And felt the irony
That it was still too big
For me.
Then I thought
I smelled the sea
And recalled
His service
In the Merchant Marines
During the war.
I put money
In the pockets.
Enough so that
A survivor, like him, of
The Great Depression
Would feel enriched.
I drove
To the park downtown
And gave the coat to a homeless man.
It fit him just right.
He put his hands in the pockets.
Smiled at me.
Thanked me.
And as my father’s old overcoat
Receded into the crowd
I thought that for a moment
Well, really only for a second
It seemed like
He was alive.

—
Fred Carroll is a retired high school English teacher.

Know anyone who might appreciate reading Fred’s poem?
Why not share the link to this page?

Have you read these poems:
To the Men I Stopped Dating Too Soon by Anne Rankin
Humble Up by Mary McGinnis

Table of Contents