A few poems from different sections of the collection:
CAN’T GO, MAYBE
Never much afraid of big ol’
Thomas Wolfe, been going home
for decades now, and reaping
sustenance therefrom – more than ever,
now I’m exiled to the hated frozen North.
But how many times again?
Holidays bring hospital stays
these days, it seems, a trend
that shows no signs of ceasing.
This Thanksgiving Saturday
’twas just a flutter that,
combining with the morning’s
causeless fall, sent Mama to the E.R.
cautionarily. Drugging down
the pressure meant she could,
this time, go home again.
But how many more times?
While she’s around my visits
to the Lone Star State continue.
But soon that day is coming
when I’ll have no reason to
go home again – that day,
and that black and lightless night.
Mama’s soon, and then my own,