Joe Rosenfeld trudged into the Teacher’s Center
plopped on the couch, then whispered, “Terrible nightmare.”
Silence. Staring. Then:
“My dear Uncle Irving wailing as his wife
stuffed into the grave. Never recovered.”
“This the guy with the funny eye, ” I said.
“The left one, stood to the side, like a soldier,
never moving
and from this slight imperfection
unbearably low self-esteem.
At the age of twelve only dark sunglasses
never took ‘em off
but after he met Emma
they was gone for good. A miracle!
Such a sweet girl, a tragedy, really,
her death.”
Eyes drifting now
the scene replayed, most certainly,
then: “Not a month later fired from his job
ripped papers into long strips all day.”
“What’d he do? ”
“Important documents! ”
“The job.”
“Accountant.
So my dear wife Addie invited him
for dinner eleven times, to comfort him
finally he accepted. Why I don’t know
perhaps the pot roast—Emma’s specialty! ”
“Ah, Addie’s cure for pain, and I been missing it
last time, when, five months ago you invited me over…”
“Uncle Irving sat slumped at the table sobbing
‘Eat, ’ I said, ‘a man needs strength
at a sad time like this.’
As soon as I said those words
I realized my error. Too late.
He was already pouring
the big bowl of gravy on his head.”
Silence. I waited, finally:
“All down his cheeks
like tears.”
Charles Chaim Wax
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-discourse-on-heartache/
