Saturday, August 4, 2012

Shawn’s Chair

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
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
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