Memory Sense

My father should have smelled like ink or paper
from devouring every book in reach
Often chosen by size rather than subject

I imagine him once again perched at the kitchen table
coffee and cigarette side by side
in triumphant if futile denial

If it was summer 
a finch tap tapped at the window
Only they two knew the secret code

Melanie Brown
Inspired by Bentlily's prompt to write about how my father smelled