The Day Daddy Died
The day Daddy died
I found myself alone in the farmhouse
and I was like Samson when he awoke
to Delilah's "The Philistines are on you!"
Then the ropes of new habits—
the weighing of 3 oz. of tuna, 2 oz. of cheese
apportioning rice or potatoes or pasta
in meager 1/2-cup servings, eating my 1 oz. slice of toast
with a precise teaspoon of butter and honey
washed down with 1/2 cup of blue milk—snapped
and I clawed through cupboards
for prunes and baking chocolate and raisins and nuts
dug in the freezer for old cake and ice-cream
and blueberries, hard as marbles
checked every opened box and package
ravaged every tin
until the waist-band of my new
size 12s cut into my skin
and there was room for no more
but still I was hollow inside.
The day Daddy died
I found myself alone in the farmhouse
and I was like Samson when he awoke
to Delilah's "The Philistines are on you!"
Then the ropes of new habits—
the weighing of 3 oz. of tuna, 2 oz. of cheese
apportioning rice or potatoes or pasta
in meager 1/2-cup servings, eating my 1 oz. slice of toast
with a precise teaspoon of butter and honey
washed down with 1/2 cup of blue milk—snapped
and I clawed through cupboards
for prunes and baking chocolate and raisins and nuts
dug in the freezer for old cake and ice-cream
and blueberries, hard as marbles
checked every opened box and package
ravaged every tin
until the waist-band of my new
size 12s cut into my skin
and there was room for no more
but still I was hollow inside.