The Best Medicine

0
3

My father held a finger in the air
and wiggled it.
He said, “Bet you can’t
laugh at that
A sad, stone core tempted him
whose molecules were guilt,
inverted wit, a cynic’s playfulness.
His finger festered it;
I sang it on

Until the finger stopped its play;
laughter turned maniacal.
No more insane, loose fun.
The prankster lost
the last wild toss;
now I am sole Boss of the Game.

19 February 1995

Rate this post
Previous articleLead Coffin
Next articleGregarious Fish

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here