Defanged Olympians

My old man'll turn
69 tomorrow
but I can't go see him
to celebrate.
I'm sick
o'discussing the Cause.

The world hides in a chrysalis
thin and gold-rimmed
like Bible paper
hoping to emerge;
Daniel from the lions' den.

If only we were in church
32 years ago.
He'd hand me his pack
of Luden's Throat Drops
(though none of us're ill)
to pass the time

like he got me through sermons
I couldn't understand
in pews I couldn't see over

happy to have
Wild Cherry
or Honey Lemon
unwrapped from wax paper
after an off-key song

but here we are
where no one's singing.

Today I'd settle
for Honey Licorice
or even the devil's candy
Butter Rum Life Savers
from a gray-haired man
who repeats himself--
a hero undeclared

though the sermon
remains the same:

Life's too short
to waste.
Memento mori.
That conversation
like any pair of hands
gets bloody.


Currently reading:
"Desperation" by Stephen King.