Archives for posts with tag: Humor

I wrote: STUPID

 

like a banner above your

sixth grade photo and

tossed it into my annually

increasing collection

 

only to forget what you

did to warrant this

deeply etched indigo

over your head.

 

Why I had christened

you my sole, secret

victim, or even why

I held onto your

 

desecrated likeness,

I could not recall when

my daughter, laughing,

spied it in the heap.

 

After you were

elected Sheriff

of LawrenceCounty,

you said to me,

 

What I remember

most about you is

how I envied your

beautiful penmanship.

– Mary E. Kocher

 

Mom had to have her Pall Malls.                               

Don’t cross until the light turns red.                                                                           

 

We spot a red light but don’t understand

it’s for cross-traffic at University Avenue—

never mind that a pickup is barreling toward us.                               

 

I dawdle behind my seven-year old sister as she

blindly follows Mom’s vague instructions and

winds up flat on her back on the pavement—out cold.

 

Mom screams bloody murder. I don’t understand

her, or maybe I just don’t want to remember.

 

I turn to see her outline: a petite, emaciated woman

wearing a fitted print sundress, her long, black curls

pulled tautly into a ponytail, spindly arms flailing at

 

the truck driver like the wings of a foxed-chased hen,

feet frozen to gray wood planks on our column flanked porch.

 

By the time the ashen driver delivers my sister’s small, limp,

scraped-up body into Mom’s trembling arms, she comes to.

 

After a trip to Mercy’s Emergency Room, we’re all 

in the living room. Mom sits quietly, her jade eyes vacant.

 

Surrounding laughter competes with my pounding heart

as I study her, cradled on Dad’s lap, her head bandaged

like a mummy’s, his arms wrapped about her like wings. 

 

My sister smiles faintly, not her usual teethy grin,

clear aquamarine eyes teary, then looks away.

 

I am unable to block the image of her with closed eyes;

her motionless body lying in the street overrides—

 

replays inside my head like a reel-to-reel film strip

that snaps and dangles when it reaches the end.

                                                                                                                                        – Mary E. Kocher