Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

It's Many Miles from Easy 

It's many miles from easy to the end. 

For some, the end is dawn. For others it's 

the nightfall of imbroglio because

the end depends upon your ticket 

and every ticket's punched one-way. 

No round-trip tickets, save perhaps 

for some who claim a mulligan, 

who say they need another chance. 

It's true that some may need a mulligan 

if they leave without a destination, 

while others know which port 

they'll dock in. Or so they say.

When they arrive, however,

and find no hula skirts or leis,

they may gasp and cry, "Who knew?"

while somewhere in the clouds 

a blinking neon sign proclaims 

it's many miles from easy to the end.

Pygmies and the Dalai Lama

I don't know the answer but

perhaps the Dalai Lama knows

the final resting place of pygmies 

who live in jungles unexplored 

and never hear a sermon from

a preacher, rabbi, or imam, 

who live in huts, eat fruit and nuts,

think disappearing jets are birds

their arrows cannot reach.

What happens when they die?

I don't know the answer but 

perhaps the Dalai Lama knows.

Every Child Needs a Father

Back in sixth grade Billy hits a ball so far 

it never comes down, as he tells the story now,

50 years later, drunk in a bar, talking with strangers.

He rounds the bases but doesn't touch home.

The catcher tags him and the ump says he's out.

Sitting in the stands, his father curses so 

Billy runs away with the puppy he found 

that his father says he cannot keep.

He hides in the forest but his sister squeals 

about the cave he now calls home.

Around midnight, the puppy is sleeping

when Billy sees searchlights weaving in the dark

and hears cops shouting "Billy! Billy!" 

The cops take him home and the puppy away.

Billy gets welts on his butt from a belt

and never plays baseball again but 

every summer his father tells neighbors 

some day my Billy will play for the Yankees.

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.