Tuesday, November 24, 2009
a poem by Troy Cady
is a sign
Why do we never mix
poetry and prose?
They’re made to mingle.
The clean sheets
are just hours old.
Next week they will be washed again.
We steal unpredictable showers now,
squeezing them in just before rhythmic writing.
I never know what you’re going to request for breakfast.
Like a dancing elf, I never know how you’re going to make me smile next.
After the Irish blessing,
I like kissing you as you put on your jacket or
grab your keys just before you go out the door.
Seconds later, you step on the elevator
that takes you to the garage
and I descend with you,
but only in my mind.
I want to go with you,
I want to hold your hand in the car today.
I want to sing the hymns you’ve selected,
but that is not how life is arranged right now.
So, I quick put on my shoes and coat. I leash the dog and sometimes collect the rubbish, thinking I will kill two birds with one stone while I’m at it. If I time it right, I can catch you out on the street before you come up the parking ramp (me with the dog and some rubbish; you in the car). As you come up out of the garage onto the street, driving, I stand at attention on the driver’s side and you roll down your window. I lean over, keeping the dog from tugging away, to give you one last kiss before you drive away for the rest of the day.
We call this moment our bonus kiss.
I was too busy
collecting garbage inside
so I was too late.
You had already ascended the ramp
and you had already driven down the street by the time I got to my post.
So I have your picture in front of me now.
My eyes will be kissing you all day.
And when I’m out later, ordering turkeys, I’ll be kissing you in my mind and heart.
Come home soon, my love.
We'll make up for our bonus kiss when you return.