At The Crossroads Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

Treasure pranced in, shook the snow
off her wool cap, sat down, said
“Bernstein, I’m here. What now? ”
”Big Breakfast, ” I called out to Huey.
“When I think of Andy’s future, ” Lucy said,
“I don’t see it. Just a wall,
ten stories high, painted grey.”
Huey appeared with scrambled eggs, homefries,
pancakes, fake maple syrup, and coffee.
Somehow Joe Kelsey had joined us
didn’t see him walk over
but there he sat, a smile, staring
at the feast.
“Would you like some, ” Treasure asked softly.
“I accept, ” said Joe who then called out
to Huey for another plate.
“I wish Andy had a father, ” said Lucy,
“but he walked out one morning
and never returned
because he refused to have a son
who couldn’t play baseball, or go swimming,
or even eat a bagel by himself…
crippled from the neck down.”
By now Joe had shoveled scrambled eggs
and pancakes onto his plate,
pouring syrup over both
then chopping up the concoction
so he could slurp it down
his false teeth having been stolen
three weeks ago
while he slept on the subway.
Outside the snow continued
creating a white wilderness
not yet pure but getting there.
Finished sucking up his syrup stew
Joe said, “Thank you, my dear.”
Then to Lucy, “He’s alive,
that’s all that matters
my son’s been in the ground
eighteen years
wife couldn’t handle it
went mad
cooped up somewhere in New Jersey…”
“Blueberry pie, ” Treasure called out to Huey
Joe’s eyes wide now, thinking, hoping,
then the words:
“For you.”