The Human Condition
Did I forgive her, you ask?
What a silly question.
Why wouldn't I forgive her?
The mother of my children,
she's been dead for years.
Our long war died with her.
Did I attend her funeral?
I'd have been a distraction.
But I pray for her,
the repose of her soul.
She belongs in Heaven,
no denying that, up front
in a box seat after all
she's been through.
If I'm lucky, I'll find
the side door to
I'll sneak in quietly
and if Peter doesn't
throw me out, I'll sit
in the bleachers.
The question is,
will I wave if she
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Comments about this poem (The Human Condition by Donal Mahoney )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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