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Richard Morgan Poem
UNCLE MILTY AND ME
Uncle Milty,
A compact man,
Not really my uncle,
More a close friend of my parents,
Drove a New York City cab.
He had no kids and
A wife who didn’t smile.
When they visited,
My mother’s pot roast,
Served with little white potatoes
And yellow corn,
Prepared only for special guests,
Made Uncle Milty smile.
After dinner
He waved me closer and
I could smell the cigars in his shirt pocket.
I believed him when he cautioned me,
Catfish are really baby sharks,
He had no reason to lie.
Then, he gave me a quarter,
Told me to buy some candy.
I think he wanted one of us
To be happy.
Copyright © Richard Morgan | Year Posted 2015
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Richard Morgan Poem
PARIS PALES
Paris is in pain
and I am home
safe and free
from bombs
and bullets,
but not quite sure
if what happened there
can not happen here
in my home town,
in my safe place.
What little imagination
must I use to see it happen here?
When men think they are right
and all others are wrong,
are we safe from their reach?
If men would rather die in war
than live in peace, are we safe
from their outstretched arms?
Where are the women,
with their inherited good sense,
to tell these men they’re goal is absurd,
and they, these oppressed women,
want their sons to live long, fruitful lives.
Without them, we are lost, they are lost, and
their children are already dead.
Copyright © Richard Morgan | Year Posted 2015
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