Joe Rosenfeld trudged into the Teacher’s Center <br />plopped on the couch, then whispered, “Terrible nightmare.” <br />Silence. Staring. Then: <br />“My dear Uncle Irving wailing as his wife <br />stuffed into the grave. Never recovered.” <br />“This the guy with the funny eye, ” I said. <br />“The left one, stood to the side, like a soldier, <br />never moving <br />and from this slight imperfection <br />unbearably low self-esteem. <br />At the age of twelve only dark sunglasses <br />never took ‘em off <br />but after he met Emma <br />they was gone for good. A miracle! <br />Such a sweet girl, a tragedy, really, <br />her death.” <br />Eyes drifting now <br />the scene replayed, most certainly, <br />then: “Not a month later fired from his job <br />ripped papers into long strips all day.” <br />“What’d he do? ” <br />“Important documents! ” <br />“The job.” <br />“Accountant. <br />So my dear wife Addie invited him <br />for dinner eleven times, to comfort him <br />finally he accepted. Why I don’t know <br />perhaps the pot roast—Emma’s specialty! ” <br />“Ah, Addie’s cure for pain, and I been missing it <br />last time, when, five months ago you invited me over…” <br />“Uncle Irving sat slumped at the table sobbing <br />‘Eat, ’ I said, ‘a man needs strength <br />at a sad time like this.’ <br />As soon as I said those words <br />I realized my error. Too late. <br />He was already pouring <br />the big bowl of gravy on his head.” <br />Silence. I waited, finally: <br />“All down his cheeks <br />like tears.”<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-discourse-on-heartache/
