Tonight I can read the saddest lines

It's raining very softly now, as if the night is weeping and doesn't want the world below to notice.

Tonight, I skipped on to Sunday's poem on the Writer's Alamanc, and found Reid Bush's "Where are Men When they're Not at Home?" For unspoken reasons, it made me sad.

Where are Men
When they're Not at Home?

Different places.

Some are out at the barn checking on the mare that's about to foal.
I know, not many now.
A few.

Some are running down to the corner store to pick up something they forgot.
Be right back.

Some are in offices practicing pitches. Spiels.

Some are phoning from offices—saying they'll be late.

Of course, many are dead.
You suddenly think about them because you're back where you haven't been
in 20 years
and go to look them up.
But they're not there.
Just some widows.

But most are way off somewhere searching for fathers who were never home
enough.

Posted by Monoceros at November 24, 2006 1:36 AM