He clears his throat with a loud
As he eavesdrops on my half
Of a phone call from a boy.
He thinks bad things about me
And my friends who drink and smoke
As if he lived his life alone,
A halo as his cloak.
Our memories are not the same
Of life with him, five kids and her
Just two of us could take his name
The rest of us just called him 'sir.'
I loved him many years ago,
A child was I of his own betrothed
And now they're gone, the ones he loved,
As he rocks in his chair clearing his throat.
Copyright © karen feist | Year Posted 2009