the morning after

fried chicken smothered in gravy
lives put on hold unheard
to grieve would make me regret her
conceived to help her feel better
relieved to see the beauty in a girl
her eyes the bluest seas
to walk the grounds with tulip trees
how high the mighty graceful branches
caught the light swaying in prayer
for mama and papa and two baby bears
the dining room formal the Beacon Hill Chairs-
a china birdcage without a bird hanging on a heavy chain in front of
the bay window
told of life on Devonshire a family doing well
bitter herbs were Harold’s words fell apart our world
we weren’t doing too well-the tin man had no heart
a man who cannot love will not be well nor smart
we had cars vacations yachts expectations
Glenfiddish imported from Scotland
Dimple scotch from the UK
Tanqurey gin the best martini
Boodles gin don’t forget the olive
will never forgive the olive
Mouton Rothschild
red like his blood curdling screams
Dom Perignon-
how fortunate we felt we’d been
as ducks take to water
as Christ changed water into wine
dad should have drunk the holy water
and not have drowned his sorrows
for his lifetime
it wouldn’t have been so bad
but for the prescription drugs
the combination turned him insane
on a nighty basis a life too pained
never asked for help
it was too late he couldn’t stop blaming
the abused became the abuser
his mother the accused
dazed dementia he smiles and waves
forgetting a past
he never remembered
the morning after.