The tears come easily
The tears come easily
He has begun to think of them
As cleansing regret
His eyes were sore
From a lifetime
Of having seen too much
There would be no going back
To make changes.
He could no longer escape
The folly of his wildness
The frolics
And improprieties
The cheap betrayals
The fortune of youth, misspent
When crying was anathema
To the male
Not once did he see his father weep
Nor had he,
Until recently.
The pain of it was a shock
The release, far too short
To move him forward.
He had been waiting too long
For something to change
To count himself lucky
To be alive.
Sitting in front of a jigsaw
The corners
Barely begun
The table, covered in stains
From a teacup
Never short of a refill,
He would prefer a single-malt
Rationed to one middle finger a day
By the stazi
In starched white
With cold hands
And rules, unbending.
The days seemed never-ending.
His eyes never left the door
It was all he waited for,
Visiting time.
She would come,
He knew she would
Although how long it had been
He couldn’t recall,
The longest time of all.
Perhaps she was dead
The snarky nurse
Who used a stiletto
To deliver bad news
Slicing him like a kipper
With a few sharp words
Loved to say that she was,
She delivered an obituary
As if it was a piece of dry toast
Burned around the edges
Bitter to the taste,
But he wouldn’t countenance such an outcome.
She was out there somewhere
Beyond the door
Where the free world lay
And one day soon
She would come
To take him home.
He could feel it in his water
It was either that
Or prostate cancer.