My Left Hand Poem by Thomas Plotz

I went to church
Family perched in pews, all around
Past wives and spouses
Parents, children and grand children
Tower bells sound,

The pew I was sitting in
Besides myself,
Just worn wood

My left hand,
Dry and un-moisturized
Now, wrinkles starting to appear
Still empty, still open
Waiting to be roped-in

I am married, though alone

My past loves,
Standing with, awkward backwards glances,
I'm wondering of second chances,
I have found in my past that done, is never done
Once you're in and committed, you're always in

Are your children and grand children
No longer thinking of you as,
He's my Father, he's my Pop's
I think, once you're in and you know, you are

I know, what I am saying seem strange,
With my memory rearranged, it comes and goes
The one who hurts me most,
Doesn't stand by me,
Because I am the ghost; or maybe they do?
As I look thru, the church colored glass

 
T. Plotz
My Left Hand
20 FEB 2017