It's a bad Good Friday
snow and mud
and mongrels in the road
Is that how it went?
But I'm not in a dive bar,
my life's not a decaying
shed along some lonely road.
I've got a glass of red wine
and a bowl of tortilla chip crumbs
The towel wrapping my head makes
my mouth a place of intimate
conversation, crunching
and jaw, and that's nice.
Who cares if the baby vomited
all over my clothes, her mouth
a passive conduit of this morning's
oatmeal? I've seen worse.
My glass is half-full
of boxed wine, but at least
it's not the cheapest,
and the water's hot,
my feet are clean,
it's raining only outside.
Not flippant, but grateful
for words that forecast
what images cannot:
My Lord will live again
day-after-tomorrow,
baby will mend.
I gladly jump through a window
from a room of suffering,
I duck my head and slip away
from Good Friday,
just for a few moments,
hoping, as all flesh hopes,
that escape from pain is forever.
Contentment is in knowing
the endings of things,
and when the endings are good,
contentment is easy
as picking strawberries,
warmed by late summer--
and though that's only half the wine
in the glass, I'm happy enough
this Friday, at this table,
my baby sipping honeyed water
not far from me, her moon cheek,
close by my hands.
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8 comments:
starting to hate this poem.
Fuzzy food in my fridge, I'm not foolin.
To the compost with it - that's the rule (in).
But I went out one night
And got quite a fright
When I saw Cheshire Possum droolin!
T
(Best I can do!)
Knew a girl named Moon Cheek in HS.
It was the sixties after all!
Country Girl,
Illness at Easter is a b--ch.
Introduces to Egg hunts a
bit of a hitch.
If only our children did not public
places licktch.
I have never, ever known a man
named Mitch.
And this, among other reasons, is why I don't work for rhyme. Not even for a dime. Or a lime. Well, mabye a lime in the neck of a cold beer. Maybe then.
Uncle,
Ah! The lovely Moon Cheek! Were her cheeks really like moons? Poor thing. It sounds like her name could have been misconstrued in a place like high school.
Don't start to hate this poem, not even for a second.
Actually the girls I knew who were the reality behind the fictional Moon Cheek were to a great extent inspired, shall we say by herbal remedies.
All natural, of course!
You need to write a short story about the suburban quasi-hippie couple, Moon Cheek and Astro Boy.
I myself, after Easter intend to write a semi-naughty limerick or Haiku'
A clarification;
The girls took the herbal remedies, not your Uncle!
I am and was goofy enough without any outside help.
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