Published in Art With Words

Missed Living by one Kiss
Dan Johnson
© 1996


Old Joe, sank low in his over stuffed recliner,
well worn finger marks burrowed deeply on the arms of the chair.
From over twenty years of Monday Night Football

Old Joe, yelled loud to his wife of more than forty years,
Dump the ash tray, move your butt, and while you’re
Up, get me one more beer.

The ashtray, a glass Liberace piano with a sharp edged chip,
she got it back in ’66…
The only time she made it to Las Vegas.

Old Joe taunts her to hurry
Second half starts in a second,
His words were beer guzzled slurry.

She stepped in front of Joe
Blocked his view,
Took his boot to her hip
Then he laughed,
As she fell to the floor
A tear trailed her sad and lonely body,
Easy to see it hurt...sadly though
she had no place to go.

Lifting herself on the corner of the table
Where Liberace wait in silence
He yelled,
She felt compelled…then decided,
It was time to make a change

Waiting in the shadow for
Old Joe to fall asleep,
as he does every Monday night…
in that overstuffed chair
with finger marks burrowed deeply
in the fabric faded to a dirty blue…
She silently reached down
Held Liberace’s broken end in her hand,
And…

While they waited in the kitchen
Drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes,
Waiting patiently
For ambulance and police,
She said in a moment of final release,
To her neighbor of 35 years,
Old Joe was ok, but not once had he offered me a kiss.

Dan Johnson