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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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AVUNCULAR
G.A. Scheinoha
Not all that long ago an apple struck him in the head. They said he wasn’t the same. “Soft as overripe fruit,” came the whispers. Forgot he laid down a gravitational law. But they’ve been falling out of trees ever since. Claim to be his descendants. “Great gramps, don’tcha know me?”
“Missing links,” he recants, the snap swivel of his own memory thin as a future bride. Though he’s probably right. They wrap him more securely than an old truck tire swing to the trunk of their fervent maybes.
What’s more likely is he’s uncle to all your responsibilities, shoulders them like a fatherless child.