Truth Hurts
Had this ache the other day,
it came early and left late.
Introduced himself and lit
a cigarette; blue smoke rising
up to the ceiling.
Truth, he offered, extending a hand.
Been away for a while, seems a lot
of people are mad at me now.
Could say I’m sorry, but I’m not.
Could say I understand, but I don’t.
They need me, I don’t need them.
They want my conversation –
But I’m all talked out.
Said it all, you see
and said it first –
But no one was listening then. Not to me.
He stubbed out his cigarette
And went quiet for a while
Then gave me his address
And said goodbye.
Grief
He doesn’t listen, not anymore.
Just talks and talks
like it’s him or nothing.
Talks on like no one has anything to say.
Pokes his finger, jabs it
here and there.
Points to where he’s going
and shouts out when he’s there.
Doesn’t listen, not to me.
Mouth moving, eyes fixed,
like a man possessed,
And about to break free.
It’s his passion I guess,
something he longs to be,
so, I’ll sit here listening,
till he sets me free.
Call Waiting
Been on hold,
for three years now.
Music playing -
mostly out of key.
Been waiting for an answer
for a chance to engage -
for a message
from my dad from 1963.
The music stops playing,
heard a click, then a voice,
You can keep on waiting
Or leave a number
I’ll call you back.
Took a chance
And said hello,
Can you hear me dad,
it’s me, your son Joe?
Lost your number,
found it then.
Would love to hear
your voice again –
Anytime day or night
Just call me dad,
I’ve got call waiting.
About the Creator
Joe Luca
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