Today Shawn became a
chair, so I thought
That was my worst mistake, looking at him,
thinking I
can fix him.
The chair says “I am nothing.”
I don’t like him being a chair; I’d rather
prefer him doing
the
jig, polka, or twist.
I remember looking at him when he was little,
thinking
of the many things he could be when he grew up.
There was always a loud conversation going on
about
him in my head in those far-off days.
If I wasn’t talking to him, his mind was
always somewhere
else.
He was always older than he was.
Back then Shawn didn’t know I drank a lot,
but I figured he’d
know it someday…
I think he is cross!
One part of me back then was running, the
other part frozen
in Shawn’s chair.
I saw Shawn’s face today, the first time in a
very, very long
time, it was fat, red, blotched, tired and sad—
I see he is trying to maintain some kind of
control, but it’s
hard.
I know he is different, that’s all I know of
him.
He is different now—yesterday he was my
friend, came out of
the Marines, I was so very proud of him!
Went to
College, a great mind, I was so proud of him!
I hope it is over now!
Oh, I could blame them, all them, but I am
too old and too
tired, I am different too.
Who should I blame: the Chair? How about my
ex-wife? Or
perhaps, the pull of the moon, or the devil, or God, or the
Color of the sky—who?
No one notices this; no one sees how it
really is…
Note:
Written 7-17-2012 (#3378) AS
