Three more poems

Thankfully I can still write my daily short poems. It’s a way for me to look inside a bit and record my thoughts and goings on since my husband Bob died. Today would have been his eighty-fourth birthday. I can’t even begin to tell you how much a miss celebrating with him as I did for the last fifty-three years.

Here are three newish draft poems.

At Fishing with Dynamite, used to be one of our favorite Manhattan Beach restaurants.

My Days

Even when I add
A chore or two
To shake up my day
It still ends
The same way.
Eating dinner in front
Of the television
As I watch a movie.
I watch one each night
Some good, some bad
But it’s a diversion
Which I need more
And more of these days.
I don’t know how
To get out of this rut.
And when I study it
Real closely, I don’t think
I ever will.
My husband is gone
And the void he left
In my life will never
Go away. And nowadays
I want to yell and scream
At him for leaving me.
Even though he couldn’t help
Getting so sick,.
He needed to get well
And not leave me this way.


My Mercedes Is Gone

I let go of another love today
My cherry red Mercedes
That I’ve driven for seventeen years.
Ben put it on the market
For sixty-two hundred
And I clinched the deal
For six thousand even.
I was attracted to that car
Right away. It had heated seats
And a weight heavy enough
To always make me feel safe.
And that same adoration
Never changed in all these years.
The nice man who bought it
Couldn’t believe I really
Wanted to sell. I have to,
I said. I don’t need two cars.
I’ve decided to keep Bob’s.
It’s only two years old
With up-to-date electronics.
I can probably drive it
For the rest of my life.


Hear the Silence

This has been one
Of my most quiet days.
Sure it was interrupted
With lovely phone calls
From family and friends.
But those people cannot
Hear the silence
That I hear in here.
They can’t imagine
This life I have
Living alone with
No place to go
And no people to see.
Maybe after I get
My vaccine on Friday
Life will perk up a bit.
But really I don’t think so.
Tomorrow would be Bob’s
Eight-fourth birthday
Without him here
To share that day with me
With our usual kisses and hugs,
It will probably be
More quiet than today.

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