Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

A waiting room filled with tears and delight,
Doors line the hall,
Each containing a story that is kept in hushed tones,
A balloon sways behind one to the right,
What message does it carry?
Get Well Soon!
To the woman who will surely never leave.
It’s a boy!
The nurses try to break the news.
Happy Birthday!
His ninety-third to be exact.
The door could be an entrance to life,
Or an exit,
Depending on the balloon.

There were seven of us
crammed in a tangled mess.
Four in the back, three in the front, I sat
on your best friends lap.

We were leaving my best friends back
to their house. You drove
like a ******* maniac.
And we were all fantastically twisted drunk.

Fiat Punto sardine can,
my two in the back held hands.
Whispered 'I love you' in their own ears
whenever you took a sharp turn too fast.

But me and the boy supporting my weight
were screaming for faster
and I could feel life moving through me
in the wind rushing past us.

We stopped then, suddenly.
And you put your arm around me
and said "put on your seatbelt."
So I did, because you said so

and on the drive home I felt safe.

“You look like my son,” he says.
But he does not look at my face
He looks over my head and out the window

It is the look of a man that while drunk
He has kicked his dog in the ribs
Because he can

But now he is sober
And can’t really look at it anymore

I understand that look
And run my own fingers along my side

I wonder
If he still has the rain in is breath
And as if to answer my question
His chin quivers
He fixes his glasses

“How old is your son now?” I ask

“We’re both old men now, ” he says

I give him his change
52 cents
And two plastic bags

“Happy Birth-
“Merry Christmas I mean.”
Merry Christmas I say