The Window

[Pendragon]

THE WINDOW

Every evening it is the same:
Pad, pad, pad, pad—
back and forth in front of the window
of his upstairs study.
I ask him what he thinks he’s doing.
“Looking for your mother!” he replies somewhat testily.
“Dad”, I remind him gently,
“Mom’s been dead for nearly five years.”
His reply is just an explosive bark.
Pad, pad, pad, pad.
That night, dad dies in his sleep.
After the funeral, I return to the house
to tidy up a few loose ends.
As I enter the upstairs study,
I hear a sickeningly familiar sound:
Pad, pad, pad, pad.
My God! Will he never be at rest?

Dale Harris
© 5/1/00

[andave_ya]

Wow. It's very vivid, Pen.