Poem of the Day: June 6, 2019, D Day

I started writing poetry again in 1981 after I met Kathy. We were in one of those periods in a relationship when you feel you can tell each other anything. (Sadly, these periods come and go. Sometimes you are too busy to tell each other anything. Sometimes other matters interfere.) Anyway, this was during a period when it was safe for me to write poetry. Now that I’m 72 it’s also a safe time to write. Who cares anyway? There are few consequences. All is well. So, here’s a poem from around 1981.

Mammau’s House

Mammau and Pappau’s house,

Always called “house” 

But Home.

A place and people

            Front porch broad and friendly

            With brick floor, cool on bare feet

                        On soft breezy summer evening.

            Front door with locks only Pappau understood.

            Front room with big windows

                        Often looked out of

                        Offering a safe vantage point

                        During powerful, lawn-furniture-scattering

storms.

            Piano room where Boo’s piano lived

                        A place of bright sun.

            Den, full of people on Friday night,

                        The room dark, except for the flash light of the

t.v.,

                        White and gray and black tones of men fighting

                                    Sponsored by Gillette.

Me, past my bedtime

           Out of bed

            Sitting on the stairs

            And watching.