April 2017
Ed Ruzicka
edzekezone@gmail.com
edzekezone@gmail.com
I am a rehabilitation occupational therapist privileged to work with the elderly in the sleepy to smouldering city of Baton Rouge. Off days I spend many hours alone in a room I built in order to reach a different form of deep connection through writing. I have a website at www.edrpoet.com
Author's Note: Self-schooled I have done little with poetic forms. Never-the-less Firestone’s suggested theme for April took hold of me. I started my first sonnet just before a long drive from Baton Rouge to Big Bend National Park and rewrote it as I camped and hiked my way to the majestic panorama at the South Rim.
Paul’s Song
I lost Lorraine, the house and van.
I spent a lot of hours in blue light alone.
Watched Morning Joe, David Letterman.
Lifted and nipped pork chops to the bone.
Tess had recitals, soccer into May.
While we watched games on E. S. P. N.,
Jake bit his nails, nary a word to say.
Lay slack upon the couch again, again.
Vinka, flown in from Ukrainian sticks,
came complete with a mother, yapping pup.
Tongues can freeze inside a 3 b. r. brick
but the humped-back beast I couldn’t give up.
Though she did break my kid's days sore apart,
I give what’s left of my transplanted heart.
Paul’s Song
I lost Lorraine, the house and van.
I spent a lot of hours in blue light alone.
Watched Morning Joe, David Letterman.
Lifted and nipped pork chops to the bone.
Tess had recitals, soccer into May.
While we watched games on E. S. P. N.,
Jake bit his nails, nary a word to say.
Lay slack upon the couch again, again.
Vinka, flown in from Ukrainian sticks,
came complete with a mother, yapping pup.
Tongues can freeze inside a 3 b. r. brick
but the humped-back beast I couldn’t give up.
Though she did break my kid's days sore apart,
I give what’s left of my transplanted heart.
© 2017 Ed Ruzicka
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