Another Night... "Good night"

Closing my eyes, sitting in my chair.
The little sting of the sandman coaxing me to stop.
I want to say let's go... I'm going to rest my head.
I know behind me, I could be lying down and in my bed.

I want to stop and call it a night and save the juice.
Walk around pulling strings, turning out the lights.
No matter what I do I can't stop thinking of you.
Romantic memories... beat myself up. What's the use?

It seems I'll never learn that it's just so dumb
for me to think. I think too much. Just let it go.
I finish off what they start and doubt it'll happen.
Forget it. You're only as good as your last show.

My eyes are almost shut. I can barely see.
It's you. Is it a dream? You're right here.
The little sting reminding me you're not.
Romantic memories and me... you forgot.

I'm Not Really Tired

So it's time to write again.
I'm alone... again.
No phone calls or letters
to think of.
Who does that anymore?

I got a card for Fathers Day
it's right here next to me.
It was signed... the ink is dry.
I'm playing music on my radio...
no... my music's not on a radio.
What's my radio?

I hear the beat in sync with my heart.
As long as I can pay the bills...
neither one, for everyone...
will they have to stop.

Time to stop, enough said.
I wish it wasn't still light out...
no phone calls, no letters,
I feel like going to bed.

The Coward by Eve Merriam

You, weeping wide at war, weep with me now.

Cheating a little at peace, come near
And let us cheat together here.

Look at my guilt, mirror of my shame.
Deserter, I will not turn you in;
I am your trembling twin!

Afraid, our double knees lock in knocking fear;
Running from the guns we stumble upon each other.
Hide in my lap of terror: I am your mother.

-- Only we two, and yet our howling can
Encircle the world's end.
Frightened, you are my only friend.

And frightened, we are everyone.
Someone must make a stand.
Coward, take my coward's hand.

-- Eve Merriam (1916-1992)

No Emails This Morning

Sitting by myself... hitting refresh...
thinking that something might change.
It's seems like hours since she went away
and that cover is there on my head.

I need to look out but what will I see?
There's no message coming in...
"why do I let myself get this way?"
Try it again, maybe now, no not now.

She could have once said, "I love you"
and gone back to bed. Instead...
now I sit here and hit refresh
losing my heart and out of my head.

Josie Doesn't Have An Email Address

When I was a kid my mom never made a big deal about Mother's day. It was just another Sunday with a pot of gravy on the stove and my card on the table. From time to time I'd see her take a moment to read it again. It wasn't like Christmas tears to see her there. Her hugs were stronger and her words, "Every day is Mother's Day since I had you."... she'd say them in Italian and tell me that's what Grandma used to say to her. My Mom missed Grandma. That's where the Mother's Day tears came from. My Mom became a Grandma... I miss her too.

When He Loves

When a man is one,
he just lives for fun.
When he is two...
he lives for you.

My Mom and Dad still forgave me.

Easter Sunday... 1957.

Holy Saturday... drizzling rain all day... windows, droplets, the chill... radiator warm. It didn't matter one bit, that night I was going to get a new rain coat... a real trench coat. So cool... fold over front... buttons and belt, I had nothing else on my mind... not so young any more.
A change of plans... I was on my way out the door at 2pm... I would get the chance to wear my coat... couldn't wait for ever... time wouldn't let me. But I had to be at The Church for Holy Saturday... I was in the choir... to sing... what to do? One voice missing... just this one time and time wouldn't let me. I said nothing and went with my folks to get my new coat... all mine... not so young any more. The services slipped from in side my head... into the stream of rain that flowed away down the paths of my coat. It hung in my room in the dark. I thought how tomorrow would be the first time my parents would at Mass since I was a little kid and now they would go and spot me in the balcony singing thanks for so much.
I arrived early that morning at the church in my new coat with my freshly ironed uniform draped over my arm bright red and white. My mother and father would arrive later in time to see it and hear it all. The entire choir was assembling and then I hear her... Sister Mary Bernard calling to me... words of anger. The choir parted like the Red Sea and a cloud that I ran from the day before caught up to my life and poured down without a moment's lost over the time that wouldn't let me. She threw me out. I didn't show up on Holy Saturday. She took what my mom ironed and told me to leave. The silence returned itself to an attentive group of hovering red and moved away down the hall towards 10 o'clock Mass.
I left the church and made my way across the street in my new rain coat. I stood all alone that morning occasionally saying Happy Easter to people hurrying for the wooden doors that separated me from my mom and dad. I didn't think anything else. I didn't care if I was out of the choir... or that I was even missing Easter Sunday Mass and going to hell for it. All I could imagine was the smiles and turned heads of my parents looking to catch a glimpse of me. Over and over I made it run through head. I closed my coat and pulled my collar up in shame.
Easter Sunday, for me, would never be the same and I add to the rhyme... I am totally to blame.