Sunday Mornings & Other Poems

The accouterments of Old Age, February 11, 2019

It starts slow, perhaps with a cane, 

a safety seat installed in the tub

or a grab bar in the bathroom

a safety rail to keep from falling out of bed. 

It creeps, old age, 

my reflection in the mirror, fading to grey

it too, creeps away. 

I hope the grim reaper creeps, 

Don't come at me too fast, Mr. Reaper

I'm not ready yet, not yet, not just yet. 

Scrubbing Away the Tears, June 24, 2018

I trim back the encroaching grass, 

scrub away determined moss, 

wash away the dirty splotches

dotting the encased photo of her smile. 

I wonder at her mission here, 

Though her smile, gentle, says it is done. 

I wonder if the mission was cut short?

I wonder what might have been

I wonder if her smile means to say...

Don't worry grandpa, I'll be back

We'll walk down this this sloping hill, together. 

I scrub at the moss, trying to wipe away the time,

maybe if I scrub faster I'll see her grow up?

Maybe this family will someday be together, 

maybe the bars will slide open, freeing all our spirits

And her parents will be forgiven, bathed in sunlight

neither can see, now. 

I like to think she smiles at this broken heart, 

secure in her knowledge that it will heal. 

she knows things from her underground throne

things I cannot know until I join her there. 

For now, I scrub away my own tears, dropping on her face - 

Wishing it were different, 

                    Wishing it were different, 

                                    Wishing it were different. 

Sunday Mornings, 2014

I love Sunday mornings like this one, 

The sunshine filtering through our bedroom window, 

Making love to my always willing wife; willing because we can't resist each other. 

Our magic vibrates and resonates and we are happy. 

Then off to hike. My two mile trek seems like three. 

It's been awhile since I walked a mile. 

My reward at hikes end is hot coffee with a generous amount of cream and sugar, then breakfast.

Biscuits and gravy and sausage, "to go" so I can sup with my wife, now busily doing her homework on the computer. 

Dessert is ice cream shared with the dogs, six eyes staring up at me, from the floor, 

Each waiting for their cream. 

All is well here on the hill.

By Don DuPay

ABSOLUTELY NO PORTION OF THIS POEM MAY BE REPRODUCED OR DISSEMINATED WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR, DONALD LEE DUPAY, UNDER PENALTY OF COPYRIGHT LAWS!!