Where moss grew, and on the ledge sat a few
Robins, and magpies, rudely waking up one
Sorely sleeping in the anguish of gone bys
I knocked on his door, carrying a full thermos
Coffee? I asked and there was no answer
I could be worried if this was someone else
This is someone I knew to have been strong
As I rummage through my shoulder bag for a key
I hear the latch click and the door opens wide
He stands there frail, his eyes dead like
The deep oceans in the stormiest tides
No, and don't bother me was his prompt
Yet I walk in, coax him, to share a cup with me
I tell him it's just February and August is far
He looks through me as if his look could scar
I brought you balushahis, from the station
Won't you indulge, maybe to remember of then
He nods in acknowledgment, gulps one down
Only for his face to express discontent
Do you have the mutton roll too? He asks surly
As I reach into my bag of goodies and fetch
He smiles back at me, I had forgotten he could
He bites through the roll as I hand him a few
Mom was right, this is what I should've done
Eating balushahis, rolls, maybe a fruity bun
Then sit at my desk, heal the sick and tired
Rather than fall in love and try to be alive
But brother, I ask him in trepidation
Isn't it being alive, eating these savories too?
He nods; stating it's true, but stops at the third
Says if it was really so then why would I rue
No comments:
Post a Comment