Chicago in January
bleak big city
bl bl bl bli
blessed memory of childhood running running through me in a rushed ru rush
down crooked path and you picked me up on the way as
I twisted my glance behind my shoulder to say farewell to
my father in this cold city
slow as molasses in January, Dad….
Dad zipped
here it is: final no negotiations
from sleep to neverland where life begins and ends and no poet can write words that justify it.
tomorrow cold why when I telephone 561 4770089 talked to mom and dad is sleeping he’s fair and then the nurse says EDWARD-EDWARD-EDWARD and he doesn’t wake up while I am listening on the phone He is still breathing isn’t he??? Yes…hold on…I’ll call you back. I knew I know he is not miraculously coming back but maybe …and zipped Dad
so why did that nurse know?
