{July 19, 2012}   Poem for today

My Father’s Tale

He crept from day-to-day, one 

cup of Mr. Coffee in the morning,

shower, drove the petty pace on I-285

to work, phone calls, work, lunch, work, pay

checks mailed, work, bank deposits, work, 

recording his time before the evening drive

on I-285, turned on the evening news,

read the rest of the morning paper, 

napped on the couch before dinner, 

ate out with his wife who didn’t cook

but fooled around, playing the role 

of wife. After dinner, TV, bed, the same to-

morrow, and to-morrow and to-morrow.

I knew at any time on any day what my poor father 

was doing that moment.Then one night 

he did something unexpected. 

Just after the stroke of midnight, he fell out,

out of bed without a sound,

the nightlight flickering like a candle, 

he lay beside the dusty nightstand hour after hour 

face down on the floor in his boxer shorts and tee shirt

unable to utter a syllable, dying 

on the beige carpet of his bedroom 

in the mansion he built, until the walking 

shadow of his wife strutted into his room 

at noon on Saturday, full of fury 

because he never came downstairs to make

the coffee and she had to make it,

fretting because it was Saturday, he was sleeping 

late and she had things to do and why didn’t

he make the goddamn coffee? She waited 

for his answer, she has friends (she screamed)

to meet for lunch and shopping to do. My father 

was heard no more that Saturday in late January 

and it was said in his obituary that he died without

missing a single day of work, work, work,

making his idiot wife proud, signifying nothing.


DB Love says:

Lynn, Thanks for sharing that. I see so many people who live or not, in the work shadow. Heck, they can’t even use the toliet with a cell phone connection… to what?

DB Love says:

without a cell phone connection that is. You get my sentiment

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