Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2022
After papa succumbed
to congestive heart failure
October 7th, 2020 yours truly
neglected fulfilling promised score.

I did shirk maintaining bond
with youngest sister
who when a boy especially fond
regarding said sibling
whereat myself and and Shari Todd
played cat and mouse
chasing each other to pond
necessitating both of us to traverse
wooded thicket simultaneously
waving our magic wand.

Boyhood of mine chock full of memories
framing me and most favorite playmate
requiring keen eye to distinguish
one scrawny little lad no one would debate
impossible mission to discern
thirty three month age difference,
cuz we appeared to naked eye
as identical twins.

Flickering images of yesteryear
pepper memory faculty where
froze frieze in time
trigger an errant tear
trickling down cheek,
when impish gonif nsync
with me comprised pair
of inseparable Harris offspring
in sum re: portrayed analogy
likened to everyday idyllically kleer
pitch perfect courtesy
weatherman/woman maker engineer.

Our late father though cremated
would if alive furrow ashen brow
aware how Matthew Scott remiss
and no longer doth bother
(essentially incommunicado between
himself and kid sister
ever since she left home
at age seventeen)
for greener pastures,
which meadow (for success -
defined as transcending
her inherent limitations)
sowed the seeds
of her life reaped with utmost
plentitude of hardihood.

Her sixty first birthday
arrives six days from today
(October eleventh two thousand
and twenty two) - decades spanned
with nary acknowledgement
expressed courtesy sole brother manned
existence floundering like a fish
in treacherous waters
barely gasping breath
as he felt afflicted with chronic anxiety
emotionally whipsawed hither and yon
to and fro across
unwritten pages of his life.

Yours truly attests feeling aghast
once upon a time resorting
to self starvation initially omitting breakfast
subsequently forgoing every meal
prepubescence witnessed absent enthusiast
for livingsocial hence,
my death I chose to forecast
fortunately no coroner
called to perform autopsy inquest
about which severe
psychological suicidal ambition I jest.
Written by
matthew scott harris  64/M/schwenksville, penna
(64/M/schwenksville, penna)   
60
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems