THE MORNING

 

mourning dove


Higher and higher the mourning dove flies,
Tearing past barren landscapes and wryly
Staring ahead to the horizon, why,
It never knows. It can't afford to look behind.

Fallow fields pass below, rusted stations
The bird can never know—missed elations
Of a time long past. A realization
Of necessity takes hold; it flies low.

Hollow peace resumes as it spirals down,
Two cheers and the cracking of beers allow
Brief respite, then the peace of reloading
Reminds the hunter of his foul deed done.

Bloodied bird meets bloodied hand; in union
Once more, never again—last communion.

The Morning

You and I were wine drunk;
You wonder where we went wrong...
We'd been wiring a time bomb,
And lord it didn't take long—

Because you were too young for this.

You and I were wine drunk;
How else could this have ended up?
You and I ran out of time,
And lord how she paid the price—

Because you let our lives take precedent,
And you lost your will to have our kid.

Oh I know what you did—
I know you killed our kid.

So please, please, don't come home.

You did what you had to do.