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"The Day" & "Waiting Room" by G. Murray Thomas


The day his doctor told my father he shouldn't drive anymore

there were suddenly so many errands to run.

I ran into the mailbox,

and delivered his newspaper late.

There were so many errands to run

but snow piled deep in the driveway.

and the snowplow was late.

The mail never came.

The snow piled high against the walls.

My mother argued with her caregiver

and then read the same letter over and over.

The turkeys ran wild in the yard.

My mother argued with her caregiver

because she said she didn't need a caregiver

Later, they watched the turkeys run wild,

and the starlings battle at the bird feeder.

My mother said she didn't need her walker.

My father, mystified by the remote, missed his favorite show.

The bird feeder became a TV.

My mother almost fell down.

My father was mystified

that he couldn't drive anymore.

I fell asleep

and drove my car into a ditch.


The silence is a forest of bare trees.

A grey sky hovers near the ceiling.

Through the glass,

snow covers the car

the deck

the hillside.

Or is that just a memory?

There is no child to play in it,

only photographs —

a couple skiing

the hunt for a Christmas tree

six-foot drifts from a blizzard.

There are so many photographs,

photo albums dominate the bookshelves,

filled with people I no longer recognize.

The ghosts of those still present sit with me.

We wait for the bodies to arrive.

G. Murray Thomas was an active participant in the Southern California poetry scene for 30 years. Then he moved back to Rochester NY to care for his parents. These poems are Living The Sundown coming in October 2024 from Moon Tide Press


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