Combining the Kiwi Writers poetry project with Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day collection. Translation: Little logic lingering in the lettering.
The Cloak of Clochard
Danielle found the black cloak and wrapped her father with it;
Proclaimed him to be “The Great Houdini.”
She expected a response of wit.
Instead, his gaze was of afar,
As he stirred the linguini.
He muttered the name, “The Great Clochard.”
She poured the wine and asked him why.
When what she knew of her history
Was nothing but good fortune, no reason to cry.
He spoke with slowness and deliberate care
Unwrapping the one-time mystery
Of a time filled with much love to share.
“To forego a set of goals and dreams
To fear, anger, and worry
Costs so much more than it seems.
For the only thing to vanish, buried in silence
When the words needed were ‘I’m sorry’
Was a child’s innocence.”
Danielle stared at him confused.
Not now, not ever
Had she ever been abused.
“Is this the dream you thought you dashed?
Keeping me home,
Telling me I was rash?
If you only knew,
While I never really roamed,
How often, how far I flew.
In the smallest of plays,
What was gifted and shown
Was the greatest of ways,
That helped me on my many walks,
Shaped how I had grown
And now we’ve these stories to share in our talks.”
He smiled at last
Playful and young
Like the dad in the past.
And a bouquet of flowers was ‘found.’
The magic following dinner
Was of music without sound.
What, pray tell, are you trying to convey
When you demand the right to inveigh
Against the wrongs soaring above
Against nonsense messages of sales, not love?
When, out of eighty items in the box marked ‘in’
Would have fared better in the rubbish bin?
But wait, there’s the little gem
Appearing daily as it has always been
The note entitled “Have a Great Day”
Always with the perfect verse to say.
‘Lacuna matata,’ he muttered
As tonight’s resting place was better than the gutter.
Still, they had the car,
Though it didn’t get them very far.
‘Hakuna matata,’ she replied
Often the one to lift spirits – or so she tried
Parenting the parent wasn’t the plan
Even so, the child promised she would do what she can.
Before the madness took over,
Evening swims helped him recover.
Now it was the hand of an imagined lover.
Except reality would soon discover, like God
Forging the last connection by way of steel rod
Infused with tears, with jeers, nothing odd
Cobbled together, aiming to heal, while wandering about like a tod.
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