Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Runaround Fella

The still calm night is not disturbed.
She stands like a statue, listening.
The cold seeps in, but she barely notices.
You can hear for a hundred miles
on a night like this.

Thought comes and goes.
"Is he hurt?"
"Is he dead?"
"Is he with some bitch somewhere?"
"The kids are going to cry tomorrow."
"God, oh God. Bring him home."
"Not this, on top of everything else."

She tries to sleep.
Her feet remain cold without him.
The tossing and turning
is surely keeping everyone up.

Check on the kids.
They're sleeping soundly.
Oh, the bliss of ignorance.
Check outside one more time.
Pray again.

The hope, the fear, the dread
all entwined in a night of waiting.
Worrying and waiting
for the stupid dog to come home.


the J in PJs Til Noon said...

I was going to put the poem title in the post and title the post "My dog's name is Fella" but my husband called me a chicken. So.

龍腾longteng said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.