Witness And Judge

There’s a thousand ways to die, they say, And that may be so. There’s only one kind of death when a parent dies, And that is hard-to-bear. We go on with our pursuits and affairs Or let the time play out for life And try not to think of it, But it never really goes away. We avoid such questions as “What would your mother think?” or “What would your father say?” We spend a lot of time silently hoping That no one’s watching today. They aren’t apparent So we can’t see how they take it When we start to wheedle or whine or lie and cheat And that’s somehow worse than when They could still get in our face for it! They’re the kind of ghosts we dread, Worse by each individual’s standard than if Frankenstein, Hitler, and a lady with a beard All showed up at your birthday party With pamphlets and sticky kisses, Then very disgustingly licked All the dessert forks and the cake knife, too! It’s bad enough to be you or me, however the wind blows, Without having a constant witness and judge in our head! “Oh, quit that! Get that finger out of your nose! What would your Daddy have said?” rcs. Current draft: 2/15/2010 Created on 2/10/2010 12:01 PM