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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Lyrical On 44th Street The argument started at the table He was too soft, too timid to quote Gable She said ,"Your dreams aren't keeping the lights on. If I see you writing again, your son and I will be gone." He said, "I been writing this book for ten years. I got a letter from the mayor. I won a certificate." She said, "It's just paper. We can't eat it. It aint worth shit! For six years you haven't been a father at all. You got a son who can't even catch a damn ball. You're worth a nickel as a husband. As a father, not even a dime. Where's a boy going in this world Writing stories and rhymes?" She tossed his unfinished poems on the kitchen floor His bound manuscripts out the back door. She said, "Horace, I'm warning you. Get this work out the trash You'll find a wedding ring in there too." For three days those dreams festered in that trash Covered with Pasta, cooking oil, Marinara sauce Everything he had ever written was lost. He watched the Sunny Hills Sanitation Company Turn down 34th street and make a left at the corner. One last time he tried to warn her. He could barely hide his tears with his hands. She said, "Now you can grow up and be a man." Then that truck turned left on 35th street Then it turned right And just like those dreams, it disappeared from sight Twenty years later He sat in the Sunny Hills Convalescent home Sick, lonely, old and alone He couldn't even hold a pen Or dial numbers on a phone He had forgotten nearly every simile Every rhyme and every metaphor. And every few weeks the Reaper Carried one of his friends out that door. And though he couldn't remember His favorite color or baseball team The one thing he couldn't forget Were those lyrical dreams. In the dining room of the hospital he had a guest. It took two nurses to get the feeble man dressed. A nurse said, Mr. Horace, this is your son. Twice he had to be reminded that he had one. He tried to reply, but his words failed. The young man said, "Dad, I have a writing degree. I graduated with honors, from Yale. But what the old man didn't know Happened late in the night Twenty years ago. A young child Went into that garbage can Sorted through the pasta, salad, and uneaten bones. And made those lyrical dreams his own. And now those dreams live on. -Michael Ellis
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