Months To Years Winter 2019 Months To Years Winter 2019 - Page 22

But, why hold the blanket so tight? You can’t keep it. Someday it will be the blanket’s turn. And the night shift going past your open door -- Someday each of them, blessed and unblessed alike, Will have his turn And I, too, will have my turn. So what good does it do to always eat your vegetables And make your own salad dressing, To run around the track each Tuesday And cease smoking well before the Surgeon General’s warning? So what difference does it make to know that East Brady is in Western Pa., That saccharin is 500x stronger than sugar, That safe liberalism, party loyalty and a swell war record Made Rutherford B. Hayes an acceptable candidate in 1876? And how does it help to try and try to understand it all -- The limitations of science, the fallacies of philosophy, The sound the wind makes when it scratches Its fingernails across our unraked lawn? (Sorry, dad, no extra points given for phoning In your answers with a smile in your voice.) Speaking of help, your doctor is due To give us the nightly play-by-play -- The blood count, pulse rate and temperature Of a body beyond repair. Nearing the end, your aspirations remain beyond reach. Your music never found its audience And never will. But, it’s just. Your teacher (he had his turn) told mom who told me -- You were gifted but not gifted enough. Your playing lacked a certain oomph, A necessary intensity. So it’s no surprise you have nothing to impart. No lessons on how to live. No tender father-and-son scenes Like those in movies. Just a look that says, “Son, there’s something very wrong with you -- That’s why you elicit no praise.” (And I suppose I deserve no better.) 22