View From My Window
To A Father Alone In the House
His handwriting is now slanted where it once was
perfect, the page slightly crumbled as he bends his
head over it again, performing the act of writing
a letter. A tear on a blank page,
an unuttered cry is inside the square old house
where the man sleeps, though he has not slept
for a long time. He dreams too much of the times
when we were young and that made him sad.
He used to be young, too. Now he is weeping
over a letter he is writing to his daughter as a cigar
dangles from his lips (she has told him to quit a thousand
times), and now he is thinking about the last, sad memories
of being alone.
perfect, the page slightly crumbled as he bends his
head over it again, performing the act of writing
a letter. A tear on a blank page,
an unuttered cry is inside the square old house
where the man sleeps, though he has not slept
for a long time. He dreams too much of the times
when we were young and that made him sad.
He used to be young, too. Now he is weeping
over a letter he is writing to his daughter as a cigar
dangles from his lips (she has told him to quit a thousand
times), and now he is thinking about the last, sad memories
of being alone.
Comment On This Poem ---
To A Father Alone In the House
To A Father Alone In the House
