by M. J. Schlagle

Created on: May 22, 2010

The Promise

Will you remember me my son,

when summers season calls.

Or is my face just one in the crowd,

with hair slowly turning grey.

My how the inches add,

but the pictures never told,

How inside the cauldron bubbles,

with the poisons of emotion.

Once a week, I lift the phone.

Dial a number far, far away.

For a few moments we babble,

nothing is ever really said.

Then in the background I hear her say,

"It's time for bed, tell him goodbye."

"Good-bye daddy, I love you."

"Goodnight my son, I love you to."

"See you this summer daddy?"

"Yes my son."

"Promise daddy?"

"I promise son."

I gently lay down the phone

Wipe the tears from my eyes,

and light a stale cigarette.

Will you remember me my son

when summers season calls.

"Promise daddy, promise" 

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