13 Ways of Looking at Some Polyps
He asked and so I told him.
The “cancer” poems stem
from cancer in the family.
Daughter’s terminal.
Son's a five-year survivor.
Mother died at 59.
I had 13 polyps, all benign,
snipped a year ago.
I go back next month
for another roto-rooter.
As one grows older,
neighbors, friends and folks
one doesn’t know
die from it.
That’s life, isn’t it.
One never knows
but the question’s not
“Why me?”
The question is
“Why not me?"
Think about it.
We’ll all pop something
now or when, won’t we.
Donal Mahoney
A Knockout at the End
My parents were
far from preachy.
They went to church
separately and I went
to the children’s service
separately as well.
But as a family we
went to many Irish wakes
that enabled me
last New Year’s Day
to look death in the eye
when my daughter died
after a long fight to live.
I’m old enough now
to listen for the bell signaling
my own last round with death.
Hard to believe I've made it this far.
I may even lead on points
but any bookie will tell you
death by a knockout at the end.
Donal Mahoney
A School Bus Is Coming
On weekday mornings
on a quiet corner
three moms with small
sons and daughters
wait for a school bus
they hope is coming
The children laugh
play a game of tag
three moms are silent
three feet apart
One reads a book
another smokes
the other checks
her cell phone
The bus pulls up
the kids pile on
and rush to windows
to wave good-bye
the moms all wave
as if in sync
The bus takes off
makes its turn
three moms
walk home
three feet apart
down the block
without a word
three moms
with children gone
are free at last
white, black and brown
Donal Mahoney
Answer Me This, America
Took the wife
to a pancake house
the other day.
National franchise
good food
fine reputation.
Skipped the pancakes
had bacon, eggs,
hash browns, toast
and coffee.
Wife went fancy,
had an omelette.
Grabbed the check
because the busboy
started clearing
the table early.
A young dervish
new to the job
swirling his cloth
for minimum wage.
Bothered me
to realize he'd work
three hours and a skosh
to pay for the same
breakfast, more
if he left a tip.
Reminded me
something’s wrong
with our great nation,
how we do business.
Have both ears open.
Hoping for an answer.
Donal Mahoney
Coffee with Mr. Conscience
There are a lot of people like me
neither rich nor poor, idling
in the middle who have never wanted
for anything in our lives.
We were reared by parents
who fed us and sent us to school.
We graduated and found jobs
and then moved on to better ones.
We raised families of our own.
We have pensions now
and can pay our bills.
We can buy a new recliner
when the old one breaks.
Which is why I hate to stop
for coffee at Pete’s Diner
and find Mr. Conscience there
sipping his and waiting to ask me
what I’ve done for the poor lately.
He’s an old caseworker who
worked in the projects until retirement.
He volunteers now with a group that
caulks the gaps public grants don't cover.
He never gives me a moment’s peace,
always after me to help a needy person.
He’ll take cash or a check, isn't fussy.
He’s Mr. Conscience and he drives me nuts.
But I wouldn't have coffee with anyone else.
Donal Mahoney
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