The Good News Is: Poem by Patrick O'Reilly

Life marches in & He hands you a pink slip
& a ring that used to sit
just above your wife’s knuckle.

so
you say your piece & cry your tear
get yourself out for a coupla beers
but the county is dry
cuz it’s always sunday in a place like this
& rainin’ too
fat drops of rain spittin’ on you
& the herds of sad pigeons peckin’ the sidewalk.

in charlie’s the coffee is thick
& sour & tinny, but it always is
& it looks like he’s fired that pretty waitress,
redhead,
fresh out of high school.
yah, haddalettergo,
she was always takin’ off to see her boyfriend
all the time,
here’s yer dime,
quarterback, y’know?

so
the cab splashes you as you walk home
& when you get through the door
she’s gone
& your stuff is gone
& the bills are sitting neatly on the counter there
like halloween kids with their hands out
trickin’ and treatin’ all dressed
like the irs,
got a lotta nerve

& you turn on the old clock radio
(God love her, she was nice enough to leave you that)
& they got some dr. on to tell you all about
this week’s epidemic
& it’s really quite awful,
cuz you get sores
& a cough
& a terrible chill
& it paralyzes you
& there’s a fever that gets into your brain
& leaves you mad,
barkin’ like a dog.
but the good news is

you die in the end.