Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

I see the wary, self-satisfied leer as you approach
     because I carry on my right shoulder
     the expensive leather bag my wife gave me
     for Christmas three years ago
     when the doctor said “Don’t put stuff
     in your hip pockets!”
Stuff, it seems, forces one’s spine to shift
     In ways spines are not supposed to shift.
Your sneer tells me you think it so queer
    for a man to carry a purse –
    [deep inside you may wish you had one]
My sweet, loving, caring wife has been gone
     now for two lonely years,
Only special memories I have remain, like when
I said, “Are you kidding? I can’t go around
     carrying that thing over my shoulder!”
“I do,” she said.
She packed everything I could possibly ever need 
     wallet, checkbook, toothpicks,
     fingernail clippers, pens and pencils 
Proudly she walked beside me
     while I learned
     to carry my murse
     with confidence.	
So, when I see you sneer
     I say to myself, “What’s it to you, jerk!”

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