Donal Mahoney- A Poem

We'll Feel Better, Dearie, Not to Worry

Some days my wife has aches 

and I have pains.

Other days I have aches

and she has pains.

We tell each other

all about it from our rockers 

sipping Earl Grey tea 

in tinkling porcelain cups

while watching DVDs 

of Lawrence Welk,

the late conductor nonpareil,

who's trying now to get

the Seraphim and Cherubim 

to sing "God Bless America." 

My wife and I are at an age 

where no quick fix exists,

no slow fix either.

Finally I tell her what 

neither of us wants to hear:

We'll feel better, Dearie,

not to worry, 

once we're dead.

It's the dying

that's a problem but

we're getting there.

Been on the road since birth.

We've paid the tolls.

It's been a trip.

 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, MIssouri.