Abrupt Escape

Abrupt Escape

written by: Michael Ball

@whirred

We were scheduled for Easter—
a weekend, lamb dinner with
chocolates and eggs for each
dyed as red as a saint’s blood.

We were to play with your huge
black dogs while swapping in-law
jests and gests, cradling wines.

To keep us all safe, of course,
including you, we delayed.
Yet now there’ll be no reunion
that any living person attends.

At your wedding, your adoration
of my brother was clear in clinging.
You stretched way up on short
legs to hook two wrists behind
his neck, drawing him even closer
to your mouth and your heart.

This very afternoon you crumpled
suddenly upon your own bed.
Gone before a first Social Security
check rewarded decades of labor.

Too soon, abrupt, and nasty that
fate sent you away before husband
friends and your ursine dogs
were finished playing with you.

Escape came, but only for you.
The crown monster stands
sentry for all of us you left.

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Michael Ball

Michael Ball scrambled from daily and weekly papers through business and technical pubs. Satisfaction and feeling like a writer came through blogging and podcasting, mostly political. Born in OK and raised in rural WV, he became more citified in Manhattan and Boston. He joined the Hyde Park Poets Workshop two years ago, and will never again write a manual or help system. He has moderate success placing poems in print and online.

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