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Frank P Whyte

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Books by Frank P Whyte
  Valued Love And Destiny
by Frank P Whyte
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent poems by Frank P Whyte
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           >> View all 318





Help me, please,
I'm desperate,
And medicine offers me no hope.
I asked him how long that I might live,
And he said: "I'm sorry but I don't do that."
I answered: "If not you, then who,
If I might be so bold.
But at the expense of seeming forward:
Hey! This is my life that we're talking about!"


I look closely at him now,
But he can't even look back at me.
The gall of this guy,
Who does he think he is,
To waltz in here with such rotten news,
And just drop it on me like that?


"Terminal", he says,
And I know he's not talking of trains.
My pancreas, who needs it?
That's what I'd like to say.
But the truth, it seems,
At times like these,
Is that indignation won't take it away.


How can it be,
At fifty-three,
That it's already time to die?
I've made a down payment
On a retirement home,
We'll be ever so close to the beach.
I'll golf in the morning,
Before a leisurely lunch,
And maybe we'll read after a nap.
We have been planning this life for twenty- five years,
And now this yutz shows up with this crap.


How can I face you with this tragic news?
I guess I probably should have said something sooner.
But you know I'm no better than anybody else,
I guess I was only thinking of myself,
And denial is not such a funny game.


I stop for a drink on my way home,
There are three of us at the bar.
I take a sip of my beer,
And then I choke on my fear,
For death is knocking at the front gate.


I look at the guy two seats away from me,
And I ask him about his day.
I'm using this time to avoid the truth,
To somehow prolong my self-imposed delay.


"My wife just told me that she's leaving me,"
He states without looking up.
"Fifteen years,
Of our blood, sweat, and tears,
And she says that she's had enough."


I smile half-heartedly at the irony,
And believe me, there's plenty of that.
I say, "Buddy, you need to go home to her,
This bar isn't doing you any favors.
Tell her that you love her,
And just don't leave it at that.
If you make true changes in your life,
I swear you'll never regret,
Finally doing something right by her."


"How did you know?" he asks me,
And it causes me to think,
"Because it's one o'clock on Tuesday,
And you're already out here for a drink."


"So then, what's your story, buddy?
Are you also getting divorced?"
I wanted to offer a bit of wisdom,
But I didn't want my words to be forced.


"My doctor told me today,
That I probably won't see Christmas.
It seems that I've got a tumor,
It's malignant, and it's in my pancreas.
It's not that I'm afraid of dying,
Or worried about where I'll go,
But I'm sure that my wife won't be there with me,
And that's the hardest knowledge to know.
You see, we've been together,
Since we were oh so young,
And life with her has been heaven,
And not to treasure it would have been wrong.
So, I guess I've just got one thing to tell you,
And then I'll be on my way,
Very few problems have ever been settled in a bar,
You have to hold her, and love her, and make her smile everyday."


"You see, very soon and my life will be over,
And I'll move on to whatever comes.
I'll leave behind all of the memories,
That will make a few people smile,
And I want you to stop,
And consider for awhile,
What you're doing to yourself and those around you.
This life is but once and it's beautiful,
And the pitfalls are surely plentiful,
But the rewards are yours for the asking."


 
 
 
 
 




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Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader) 8/11/2005
Hell of a troubling poem. Serious? I don't know. Truthful? Yes and no. The words you spin are true, i.e., the mending your fences, etc. The live each day as though it might be your last is a good way to think of this poem. Definitely a piece of work that catches your attention . . . and holds it.
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