Monday, February 17, 2014

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.

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