Stale Recliner
That sharp whistle steam
Spews out of the pipe
The brakes have been pressed,
The engine is still running,
And that noise
Punches in the gut every time
Your timeframe was bad and you shut down fast
Golden Girls played over and over again
At three in the mornings
Waiting room waits began to feel like a bookmark
“I was here earlier, so I need to go through that door
To get to room number…?”
Prayers for magazines and old pizza boxes
The recliner got stale and when you were gone
I finally opened my eyes to a bigger picture
Blue Umbrella by John Prine played on repeat in the Neon that year
Alabama Shakes played at the service
I didn’t say anything
There was nothing left to be said
It would have all been bad
So they went with
“…’bout the size of Morgan.”
And, “Back in my day.”
3 thoughts on "Stale Recliner"
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I read this about 6 times
I read it to Jennifer.
We listened to Blue Umbrella.
Each time it got deeper.
Maybe all your poems go
together like 3d autobiography.
There’s some hard stuff going in them, but it’s a sure pleasure
to read your writings
Thank you! 😊 They are all about my life, this one was about my step dad and the end of his life he was not a great person but still made an impact on me
It’s definitely about a feeling of not knowing what to do when a not so good person dies too
I had a lot of unfortunate events happen to me when I was younger very traumatic the only thing I know what to do with the feelings is through poetry
Your thoughtful details and spare, interesting lines and the spaces in between here bring together a really compelling poem for me too.