Friday, April 01, 2011

Song for Debi

She'd been through more hell
than most, I suppose.

Her faith was weak, and she leaned
on a lot of thin reeds.

The way she "coped" was with make-up, booze,
and right theology.

Many pastors tried to help, but one
was a vicious brute.

In the end, she received her visitors
propped in a bed in the kitchen
with the TV going, smokes
and whiskey at hand.

She'd say her husband couldn't wait
to get rid of her, and it seemed hard for her
to pretend she was just kidding.

Her husband would say no no that isn't true, my love,
then show you the pics of the house
he was planning to buy

after the funeral. Out in the country,
plenty of room, he'd say.

Spread your wings.


Glynn said...

Good poem, Bob. Makes the heart ache - but at least she has a song, now.

Bob Spencer said...

Thanks, Glynn.

Anonymous said...

good poem song